Wednesday, November 6, 2013


My November Guest
Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so wryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

So yes, it's November.

The days are shorter.

The wind has a chill to it which foreshadows what is to come.

Winter is not far away. No, not far at all.

All those pretty leaves now litter the yard, reminders of what was.

I don't begrudge the coming of winter, it's all part of the eternal cycle of days.

This has been going on long before I was here.

And will continue long after I'm gone.

But for now, I'm enjoying the ride.

Wondering what comes next.

And loving every moment...


  1. One of my absolute favorite poems, memorized in 8th grade English, and can still recite it decades later.

    1. I enjoy just about anything written by Robert Frost.

      Glad you liked it!

  2. The sensitive, poetic Sarge opens it.

    I knew under all that jet grease was a gentle big mush of a Sarge.

    1. 'Tis true.

      I am just a big softy.

      Heart o' gold and all that.

  3. But for now, I'm enjoying the ride.

    You and James Taylor.

    I kinda-sorta miss Fall up nawth. Kinda-sorta.

    1. Yeah, the weather can be a real crap shoot in November!

    2. Great song by the way. Of course, you knew I liked James Taylor.

  4. November poetry always reminds me of this:

    In Flanders fields the poppies blow
    Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
    Scarce heard amid the guns below.

    We are the Dead. Short days ago
    We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie
    In Flanders fields.

    Take up our quarrel with the foe:
    To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
    If ye break faith with us who die
    We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
    In Flanders fields.

    Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae,M.D.

    And the sounds of Last Post:

    1. Beautiful. Thanks Dave.

      We do this poem every Memorial Day. But it always reminds me of November 11th. The guns fell silent at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918.

  5. I've only recently learned to go with the flow instead of fighting upstream using a toothpick for an oar. I used to believe I'd be lost without the seasonal changes. I used to think I couldn't survive living anywhere else but Indiana. I used to think I'd be dead long before now. Now I'm living with two seasons: HOT, and not hot. I'm learning to appreciate flat landscapes instead of hills because I can better see the sunsets. And I'm still far.

    1. I've been all over the world and have learned to enjoy the little things. Also the quiet times and the not-so-quiet times

      There are time when the old bones would enjoy those two seasons you mention.

      Another reason for me to celebrate, your blog. Very nice. I like what you have to say and how you say it.

    2. I'm grabbing your url so I can put it up on the sidebar at my blog. It doesn't take me long to figure out if I like someone or not. You might be interested in the post I did on Monday, regarding our years on the fire department and a few close calls. I'd appreciate it. It's back a few posts. I'd put the url here, but I don't want to waste space at your place. (ps I found you through Mohave Rat)

    3. Just read that one. Also added you to my sidebar.

      Great stuff!


Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

NOTE: Comments on posts over 5 days old go into moderation, automatically.