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.