November

Where every day is a decade
Where no egg shell goes untrodden
Where the reaction is sometimes a bad one
Where the good work of the spring and summer lies undone
Smiles around us in tatters

We pray for the shortest day to come
And wait for the bliss of sleep to take us to bed
We hide there, when it is dark but not cold
Sitting and fretting about
Our inability to do anything today
We cannot eat, we cannot strive
We choose not to engage,
We hide.

Before the winter drives us out of this dissonance
The seasonal grit
The endless stumble through the darkest parts
Leaves us at a wound tight pitch
Humming through the evenings with bared teeth
Unable to keep the promises we made to ourselves
Fitness, health, each other’s feelings
Oh how we loathe November

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