It’s getting colder, I type, shivering.
Welcome November, slippery slope
Down to the festive season, beginning
By plunging us in darkness, without hope
Of going without coat or umbrella
To work or play. Summer clothes hibernate,
Along with bared flesh and ice-cream seller.
Warmth only resides at an airport gate.
But comfort can be found in flaming leaf,
In woollen thickness, and funny red nose,
A little runny, and hot drinks, roast beef,
And sitting in the bath, facing your toes.
So here’s to autumn, winter, and next year -
I wouldn’t swap anywhere else for here!
Wed 1 Nov 2006
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