November

And then there were the leaves that plagued him so!
The brown, thin leaves that on the stones outside
Skipped with a freezing whisper,
Now and then
They stopped, and stayed there - just to let him know
How dead they were; but if the old man cried,
They fluttered off like withered souls of men.

(excerpt from Pity Of The Leaves by Edwin Arlington Robinson, born in Alna, Maine, 1869)

Have a pleasant and peaceful weekend!