Great November Poems:
Over the river and through the woods
Trot fast my dapple gray.
Spring over the ground
Like a hunting hound
On this Thanksgiving Day, Hey!
Over the river and through the woods
Now Grandmother's face I spy.
Hurrah for the fun,
Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie.
- English folksong, It's Raining, It's Pouring
I saw the lovely arch
Of rainbow span the sky,
The gold sun burning
As the rain swept by.
- Elizabeth Coatsworth, November
November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
- Clyde Watson
from Poetry, etc. Compiled by Michael P. Garofalo