November Poem

November Poem

Today’s featured poem talks about the month of November. I thought this would be a nice way to begin November. Hope you enjoy it.

Dear November

Chill has arrived with November,
suddenly and without warning.
The trees are confused,
as I am this morning.

Pure sacrifice of another,
beautiful red leaf.
November’s the killer,
and earth is the thief.

But why would you take it,
if you won’t use it till spring.
Confined to the ground,
this leaf shall not sing.

November will tease us with snow,
I call it a bully’s threat.
Frozen in a white casket and time,
once green and young, we won’t forget.

November is the 11th hour,
of our journey and old age.
The red leaf is our final yell,
as we stand there on center stage.

Each path leading to November,
has been individually chosen.
The map we’ve created,
shall forever be frozen.

If we’re lucky,
dear November shall be kind.
Preserve memories of us,
for younger leaves to find.


Up here in the northern hemisphere, November is often just a taste of winter and of what is to come. I looked at the weather forecast for the next couple of days, and it seems like the beginning of November will be quite mild up here in Canada. It’s quite rare that I get an opportunity to still shoot some hoops in November. But I won’t complain, because I’m sure the reality of winter will hit us soon enough.

Let’s take a look at today’s poem. Honestly, when I began writing it, I hadn’t a clue where I was taking it. I just looked out my window, and noticed a sharp red leaf on the ground. I also remembered the chilly air that I felt through my fingers yesterday evening when giving out candy to the kids.

As I continued to write the poem, I realized I could use it as metaphor for life. Old age more specifically.

November may represent the last chapter of our lives. The 11th hour as I mentioned in the poem. The chilly conditions associated with November represent the physical pain that we go through as we become ill in our remaining years.

Snow may seem like more pain and hardships in the poem. But it also represents hope. Where we all wish to be remembered and hope that these memories of us not be lost or fade with time.

The green leaf represents youthfulness, while the red, old age combined with wisdom and a final expression of passionate energy. Like a refusal to give up or retire. I witnessed this through my late grandfather 10 years ago. He did not retire at the age of 65. He was passionate about his fishing business and continued to work while fighting with pancreatic cancer.

In my grandfather’s case, dear November was definitely kind. It wasn’t kind physically, because he suffered so much, but it was kind in preserving or freezing the memory of him in time. He inspired me and the memory of his life and his personality continues to inspire me each day.

I am one of those younger leaves, and I’m truly grateful.