This Gift

Who imagined this would play?
Soft grace note to the day –

so skillfully performed –
no doubt it is November, warmed –

it doesn’t make believe it’s Spring
or any other untoward thing –

it’s dark at four, tree leaves are yellow –
soon to breed the dead brown mellow

mulch that Winter always wrings from Fall –
it isn’t May or June at all –

but feel the full balm of its 68 degrees –
enough to bring you to your knees:

this honeyed magic little lift –
this gift.

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