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Gird Your Loins

Ah, Sweet November, she starts out quite chill

A shoulder, that’s colder, but never means ill

Preceding the winter, can still pass unnoticed

Yet eases the shock of the frost like a poultice

There’s always a hint, of a full wintry storm

Her temper is felt like an omen that warns

I see her as friendly, yet prone to be huffy

We handle her mood swings in jackets so puffy

Amazing how quickly her time comes and goes

Was barely the fall before skies fill with snow

Her ways serve a purpose and hers seems to be

The months that we revel in set dormancy

Are coming, and soon, so we better prepare

Unearth hats and mittens, your long underwear

Just the tip of the iceberg, familiar terrain

“Gird your loins” should be November’s refrain!

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