November and May, opposites but
Somehow we're the same
Except that I am so desolate
When you're in full bloom
The wind still blows
It's just the temperatures that change.
In November, the birds don't want to stay
The leaves have already left
And the wax on the candle has estranged our strange skies
As we hide behind the last shiver of the impatient Thanksgiving flame
Still, May's meadowlarks are able to sleep at night
As their woven nests rest
In between the young buds
And May's thumb flicks the flame bright.
But if I can't sleep in the sound dejection of November
Then I don't think I'll make it till May.