November

Gone are the swallows from field and hill
Where robins sang all the trees are still
Woods are bear everywhere
Loud cries the blue jay behind the mill
Where the dry dead leaves lie
Where robins sang all the leaves are still.

Wither and gone are the clovers green,
Daisies and sunflowers are not seen,
Aster’s blue, poppies too,
Soon winter winds will cause quite a scene.
Drifts of snow high and low,
Daisies and sunflowers are not seen.