The first to fall is the first to go.
Earth wears its mantle damp and chill –
Patina of November snow.
Leaves raged with fire just days ago –
Now grays, ash browns, pale yellows tell
The first to fall are the first to go.
Remains of harvest in desolate row
Brace for the final winter kill
Beneath their shroud of November snow.
The rakes now dry, the plow and hoe
Await Spring’s promise to fulfill –
Lit by the sky’s anemic glow
The pines are standing stiff and still,
Defiant of November snow.
In barns of silence wait those who know
What lies beneath the fields they till –
The first to fall are the first to go,
Together with November snow.