my november guest.

As strange as it may seem, my dear friend Michael and I went to the graveyard sometimes to ponder and talk about life and be quiet. Something about it was so calming. Today when i walked outside, the smell of fresh rain and crisp air brought me back to that moment. 

The desolate, deserted trees,
  The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
  And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
  The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
  And they are better for her praise.

Robert Frost.


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