A Sigh Poem by Jack White

as November dies,
And closes it’s eyes.

The bareness
of the trees pervade:
The oak,
The Japanese maple,
My burning bush
has shed its fiery
dancing flames.

What remains? :
Cold entry into another time,
The cold’s blast
with leaves leaping along
the earth’s floor,
The simplicity of
nature’s strokes
on winter’s canvas,
with lines both thick
and thin defining
this trios’ silhouettes.

Reminders of what’s ahead,
The coming season.

Addendum:
Yet the rhododendrons stand firm,
their greenery seems undisturbed,
With the evergreens,
seemingly oblivious