Emily Burns
November in New England
You can see farther now, through leafless trees,
And roadside rocks emerge. The light's grown thin.
The silver air is clear; cold wind blows in.
Time slows. This is a month of memories.
The sun sets in a band of melon sky -
The pale day's only colour. Spires and mills
Are easily seen along the distant hills.
The woods are grey with sleep. The year's gone by.
Cold the rivers now, and cold the bay;
Defiant coloured lights festoon our porches.
Like druids, calling back the sun with torches,
We wait for light, for that first lengthening day.
A few white lacy flakes predict a storm;
We hold each others' hands to keep them warm.
Page(s) 37
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