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November Nights

Jack Black - December 1, 2022

Image by - Alana Halsted



In autumn nights and mornings, I feel

An odd little yearn for that nip in the air

A sniffle in the nose with a scarf 'round my neck

And a gentle gray film across the sky


A downtown walk with my hands in my wool pockets

A warm bowl of soup from a restaurant I've never been

In a city I've never seen

But one that I’ve so clearly dreamed


Perhaps I have some strange allure to death

For I feel so tightly drawn to those corpses of leaves


They of green, born anew

Into scarlet elders of a season passed

Soon laid to rest on the homely ground

Each brutal crunch of their stiffened self

A remembrance of their graceful fall


And maybe too, an odd comfort of the cold

For I can feel no warmer solace than in those buried wintry nights


Land of green, now obscured

In the white blanket of a season coming

Making itself at home on the welcoming ground

Each soft crunch of its cotton skin

A greeting to the shedding sky


As the sun shines bright, tearing that hopeful gray film

In the midst of my wishes of eternal autumn nights

A deep disappointment sinks my soul

The permanence promised to me,

By those scarlet elders and that thick white blanket

And the crunch of the aging year below my feet,

Is just an illusion.


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