Picture in Fish Creek In November - 2 Coyotes Hunting - Taken by J Hirst
When I think about November, I think of bare trees and sleeping, dried grass. I thought it would make a lovely poem and decided to search to see whether poets ever wrote about November. Many poets did. Robert Frost was one of them. This is the poem that I liked best.
Welcome to November 2026.
November Poem
The vine leaves against the brick walls of my house,
Are rusty and broken.
Dead leaves gather under the pine-trees,
The brittle boughs of lilac-bushes
Sweep against the stars.
And I sit under a lamp
Trying to write down the emptiness of my heart.
Even the cat will not stay with me,
But prefers the rain
Under the meagre shelter of a cellar window.
—Amy Lowell
Blessings,
Judy