So. Cal. November

The Cruse of November

Bleeds into December

With gusty, southeasterly, winds.

The birds hide away

For most of the day

In the bushes, their windy-day friends.

The palms wish and sway

And the pines have a way

Of holding it all together.

With Thanksgiving gone

The winds carry on

With November's kind of weather.

The days are cool,

With cold nights, the rule,

From Canada such wind come.

The vent in the Loo

Plays a tune or two

On that flapping, wind driven, drum.

The howling sounds come

Then the Loo's flapping drum

And the whistling out in the night.

With cotton in my ears

I do think, it appears

My chances of sleep are bright.

JE Falcon

12-03-2020