November falls mildly this year, and smiles br On afternoon strolls, beckoning boldly br Through grey clouding skies, as mile upon mile br Surrounds us, in stylish profusion, yet bringing br More mellowed finery cocooned under br Ageing, untidy greens. Fashioned now in br Patches of yellowy gorse, which blunders br Pushily through hedgerows of sun-weary br Browns, with praiseworthy splashes of brighter br Than buttercup flowers, they lighten dreary br Old blackberry bushes, now ready for striking br Their own winter pose. Buzzard flies low, scans br Lacy trees, ready naked for Autumn's planned br Passionless sleep. It seems lust for growing br Must be on hold. Miniscule diamonds float br Mistily down, quickly wetting the ground, br So, taking our cue, we leave without sound.