Thursday, November 1

The Kettles Sing

November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.

With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.

The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.

-Clyde Watson-

1 comment:

Laura said...

Is this from a book? I would love to know the title!

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