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November is the hardest month,
full of naked maple
branches
and barren brown meadow grasses.
It is the month everything dies.
There is no promise of
glory,
and no hope of resurrection.
October is full of promise:
golden buttonwoods, red
maples,
tan grass seeds blowing in the wind.
December is a glorious month
with white snow covering
maples,
hiding barren meadow grasses.
But November always comes between
the promise of wind
blown seeds
and the glory of wind blown snow.
