American Muse: Elizabeth Coatsworth

aCoatsworthMuse1

“November”

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.
aCoatsworthMuse2

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