November
by John Updike
The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The ghosts of her
Departed leaves.
Maple grieves
The ghosts of her
Departed leaves.
The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.
And yet the world,
In its distress,
Displays a certain
Loveliness---
In its distress,
Displays a certain
Loveliness---
Happy November!
Donna
