November Is The Poet's Bliss...

The poet's bliss is November... Sentimental hues arouse... Warmth from autumn’s waning embers... Wafting from nigh-barren boughs... Where the brittle corn rows shimmerWeighed with final harvest-boon... Where the revived pastures glimmerGreen as green as middle-June... Where the heavy heavens splinterWith inklings of snowflake song... Where the emptiness of gardens...Lines canning shelves, row on row... The poet's bliss is NovemberSentimental hues arouseWarmth from autumn’s waning embersWafting from nigh-barren boughsWhere the brittle corn rows shimmerWeighed with final harvest-boonWhere the revived pastures glimmerGreen as green as middle-JuneWhere the heavy heavens splinterWith inklings of snowflake songAnd the kiss of Old Man WinterStarts to flirt with old and youngWhere the emptiness of gardensLines canning shelves, row on rowAnd the chores that summer pardonsAre tackled with gusto nowThe poet’s bliss is NovemberSomething in its brooding bentFills the poet with the splendorOf a heart, humbly content © Janet Martin The poet’s bliss is NovemberSomething in its brooding bentFills the poet with the splendorOf a heart, humbly content... Psalm 69:30I will praise God’s name in song and exalt Him with thanksgiving.