Autumns colors sing to me,
of a seasons love where no one is left cold,
no heart solitary.
Love hath seen no greater cause to unveil itself that that of the reasons for November.
Where hot cider can warm a heart, cold winds where your breath tends to linger.
Tiny toes touch the floor, early mornings cold as ice.
Snug in sweaters, planted in earthly quilts, tenderness as the season implies.
Eyes all a sparkle, minds full of thanks. Hugs, kisses, secret smiles long desired compassion still awaits.
November is the month where ones mind can roam so free, and wander so blind. For love, friendship, thanks, and honesty.
November is the time.
