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A poem for November

November is the pearl-grey month,

the changeling

between warm crimson October

and cold white December, the month

when the leaves fall in slow

drifting whirls,

and the shapes of the trees are

revealed, when the



wakes, and

stretches her bare

limbs and displays

her stubborn


strength before she

settles uneasily

into winter.

November is secret

and silent.

by Alison Uttley (17 December 1884 – 7 May 1976)

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