November whispers through the trees,
A gentle touch of autumn’s breeze.
Leaves fall like whispers, soft and slow,
In hues of amber, in the golden glow.
The days grow short, the nights grow long,
A quiet time, a whispered song.
The world slows down, in calm repose,
As winter’s breath begins to pose.
The skies a canvas, painted grey,
With fleeting moments of sun’s display.
A month of change, of calm, of peace,
As nature’s cycles gently cease.
November’s whispers tell a tale,
Of seasons past and futures pale.
A time to pause, reflect, and see,
The beauty in life’s quiet plea.