November winds blow harsh and cold,
Days grow short, the year grows old.
Leaves go swirling down the street,
Breath rises up when neighbors meet.

The birds have left for warmer climes,
Except the ones that stay behind.
With those I try to fill a need
By putting out their favorite feed.

The furnace purrs and keeps us warm,
Protection from the raging storm.
The wintry blast, the frozen rain,
Beat against the window pane.

Thanksgiving brings a pleasant break
And turkey, pumpkin pie, and cake.
With glass held high, we raise a toast
To our kind and gracious host.

I've lived my life here in the north,
Watching seasons run their course.
Though winter can be bleak and drear,
I kind of like this time of year.

The poet's words run through my mind,
"When winter comes, can spring be far behind?"