November’s Spirit

It comes—if its warning is unheard.

🌙

The wind’s breath chills
Bringing whispers too cold to remain.
A sliver of light within frosty dark.
Silence in the trees—no chirping.
Black darkness moves—against stillness.
A shiver courses through my chest.

❄️

It comes—
Every November,
Lingering in the mind and soul,
A call to the self—
Creeping in to stay—
If not heeded.

🍂

Leaves that drifted,
Silhouettes that moved.
A dance to shape the soul
Their steps foretold—
For me.
For others.

👻

A ghost that haunts
Every November
Shadows trail its form
Leaves call frosty names—
If left unheard—ours.

🌌

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