It’s in the morning sunrise, the yellow and purple hues
That November’s song is heard coming through.
It’s in the falling leaves, that colored show of fall
The orange, gold, and brown, my favorites of all.
It’s in the evening breeze, the sweetest lullaby,
I sit fireside, cozy and warm, and I sigh
It’s in the painted heavens, the joy of sunset’s fame,
November’s song of requite and grace, her ancient acclaim