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Sunday, November 30, 2008

With the Last Red Berries



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

2 comments:

Aja Jenise said...

Wow isn't that appropriate! Where did you find that one? Beautiful girlie!!

So now when is Ireland?

Prairie Chick said...

I love this poem! I almost used it myself for my frost post a few weeks back and I even clomped out to the horse pasture to take a pic or two of the pin cherries on the tree... but Mr. Frost (Jack that is, not Robert) came knocking on the door and poor Mr. Watson stayed on the shelf. You truly are a kindred soul...