Sweet November

Here comes the November man,

Who needed help to knead,

The dough of life,

He was busy making bread,

But had lost the art of it,

He forgot all the music,

His songs disappeared in the corporate wind.

 

She was the wildflower

of the first dawn,

She offered him the rains of May,

Alongside hopped a rainbow,

Like a rabbit out of its furrow,

Ready to plunge into the warm sunshine.

 

He drank from the petals of her rain,

A medicine healing him,

From his monotonous business routines,

Drenching him in joy and love,

He found his love song,

That he had tucked under his pillow.

 

All the time it was there,

In front of his eyes,

But he had to find her,

To find his music back,

And the lost art of creating bread.

 

But time ended for her,

While it kept ticking for him,

A few last grains of sand left,

So he got her 12 beautiful gifts,

One for every month,

Celebrating the life she lived,

And the precious love they had,

They kissed one last time,

In the golden autumn sun,

In the middle of a road,

Both went different ways,

To him she was always a face and body,

Who taught him love and life,

She lived the last moments singing,

Their love song,

Then she became sweet November,

Never ending for both of them.