November

November

By: Ley Wire

The leaves depart, 

With graceful bows.

Their beauty bursts,

Before their fall. 

The trees are lonely, 

Stark and bare. 

Their branches poke, 

And slice the air. 

The sun is sideways, 

In the sky. 

It smirks, aloof, 

As geese pass by. 

The air is left, 

A dying ember. 

And ice creeps,

Into November.