Ode to A Grey November © Mollie Pearce McKibbon 2013
The golden fires of Autumn
Are just past memories;
October’s glory washed away
By grey November’s breeze.
The tired sun, wan and pale,
Barely shows its face
Until the soft white winter quilt
Is gently tucked in place.
The grass and trees need their rest;
The flower bulbs must sleep.
All God’s creatures tiptoe round
Or slumber on in peace.
Their clock is set for Springtime
When all will stretch and sigh
And, renewed, the sun will smile
Up in a clear blue sky.
So don’t regret November days
As they creep slowly by.
They are only preparation for
Our Creator’s lullaby.
penpaletteheart 
Great Mom!!!