November winds exacerbate
October's dying breath,
With summer's life now ending
In such a chilling death.
But colours spilling from the trees,
from every shrub and bush;
Does pale the essence of July,
And flowers vivid blush.
O, would that I could live my life
As April, May, and June
And lay myself down quietly
Beneath November's moon.
~Moses L. Hochstetler
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