Time is fleeting,

as is November,

when we take time

now to remember

the days gone by...

with the snap...

of our fingers.

The day is short,

but not the night,

and so we watch

the birds take flight.

We're left behind...

Like the leaves...

Fallen to earth.

The days are quick,

not lagging, no.

The time will tick

and will not slow,

won't languish on...

unlike the months...

of high summer.

"It ends too fast!"

we wail and cry.

The days run past,

of course we try,

to grab and cling...

to the fading...

month, November.