Judy
Hope
November
and leaves glow like embers
in
colours of copper and rusty old nails.
High in the sky white lines catch fire
sun
touching far off jet trails.
Far up above me the wild geese are
flying,
ragged black arrows on an icy blue sky.
Oh to go with them when I hear them crying
calling to me to come fly, in November
The
first autumn frosts have left a fine dusting
of
magic to cover the world.
Morning sunlight makes pinpricks of bright
shining
diamonds, silvery pearls.
Far
up above me the wild geese are flying,
ragged black arrows on an icy blue sky.
Oh to go with them when I hear them crying
calling to me to come fly, in November
The
world seems so still and a finger of chill
is
touching and tingling my face.
The air is so clear that the bare bones of trees
make
a pattern of black Spanish lace.
Far
up above me the wild geese are flying,
ragged black arrows on an icy blue sky.
Oh to go with them when I hear them crying
calling to me to come fly, in November.