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NOVEMBER IN CAMELOT
In Memoriam
35th President of the United
States
May 29, 1917 – November 22,
1963
Ellin Anderson
No singing
harp can heal our grief:
There is no Bard without a Chief,
Without a Chief, there is no Land,
No sword, without his wielding hand.
The sun shone through his radiant face,
His eyes were heaven's starry field;
The wind alone could match his grace!
And now, the realm of stars shall yield
No rain beyond the tears we cried:
The land has withered since he died.
© 2011 by Ellin Anderson. All rights
reserved.
No part of this work may be copied or used in any way
without written permission from the author.
NOVEMBER
Ellin Anderson
November flaunts her brown against the blue,
And tells the youthful, “See what I can do,”
Because the dullest panoply of weeds
Can hold a wealth of ripe, nutritious seeds,
Enough to feed a hundred thousand songs
Of winter birds, who sojourn here in throngs.
The junco and the bunting stay to fly
For our delight, with snowflakes in the sky;
In olive drab, the finch rides up and down
On stalks of primrose, cure for any frown,
To taste the riches autumn left for her,
Sweet as blue berries on the juniper.
Such bounties yet uncovered by the snow
Include rich tables, set both high and low:
Plump windfall apples that the frost will keep
Have lately sent the drowsy bears to sleep,
While red orbs grace the orchards, tier on tier,
To ease the hunger of the browsing deer.
You who are young and fruitful, do not gauge
By looks alone, the usefulness of age:
A crown of days whose youth and wisdom blessed
Late harvest with the foresight to invest,
So even when the wizened year is old,
Sage earth can keep her children through the cold.
© 2016 by Ellin Anderson. All rights
reserved.
No part of this work may be copied or used in any way
without written permission from the author.
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