November wind drifting from the hills
gains slow velocity and forges forth
gathering leaves and the seasonal chill
crosses the woods and moves north.
With swirling mist it taps on the front door
rattling the home we made for each other
with a love I know will last forever more.
Its furious echo drives people to run for cover.
With the wind dying down, I see my love
sitting on the stone seat in the yard,
gazing at the pale sun glimmer above.
My pulse misses a beat, with a heart
Full of warmth I run down the steps
into his arms, my eyes tear as our lips met.
Written for "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" November 29, 2019.