Motley November rhapsody
And suddenly it’s November
and a sun, summer bright,
blinds me as I commit myself
to these rocking sheets of paper.
Bling bong, the wicked bitch is dead,
gone into exile, close away,
gone, but not gone,
still reaching out with her touch of decay.
But now there is hope,
where first there was none,
that mayhap better is coming
at the dawning of the new day.
We move through time,
from past to future,
from old to new,
taking the old with us,
stains ‘n all.