---November--

One day's Indian summer is swept away by a chilling breeze,
The festive orange, yellow and red, depart from the shivering trees.
The slothful sun slips down the hills, evading the end of the day.
The leaves blowing in the wind, trace winters crystilline way..

November is the start
of the turning of my heart
down autumn's dimly lighted road.
Loneliness is this month's somber mode.
I want to flare out and burn the dark
But can only stir the ashes in my heart,
I can only life the voice inside of me
So well as to whimper an elegy.

November is the start
of the turning of my heart.
Its the Twilight of the seasons,
where I wander without reason.
-Naya