November

 

Do you remember

Your favourite November?

Are you crazy, she smiled,

After eighty years

Months get rolled

Into that ball

Called the past,

Like night dreams,

You know that you’ve

Had them, but try as you might,

You cannot bring them to mind,

Oh there are sparks

In that ball here

And there,

But which month

Which November?

I don’t spend time

Playing in yesterday

Or wandering in tomorrow,

Getting my walker

Through the doors

And over the streets,

Keeps my feet on

The ground.

 

Stephen Nesbitt ©

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