November's Way by Alice E. Allen

 November's Way

November has
Not time to weep, 
Because the summer's
Gone to sleep.

With driving wind
The leaves she sweeps,
And piles them into
Fragrant heaps.

The morning air
With smoke she fills
From bonfires kindled
On the hills.

Gray days and rain
She too must bring,
For these help make the
Far-off spring.

Then indoor fires
She sets ablaze,
And sings beside them
Songs of praise.