Dedication:
To my father in absentia on his 104th birthday, November 7, 2010.
November sings a lonely tune,
A melody of melancholy and despair.
Trees sway naked in slow rhythm,
Tracing patterns in the autumn air.
So stand we all this season,
No camouflage for any lack of love,
Though longing to hide our nakedness,
With a grace pouring down from above.
But we can no more undo our past,
Than fallen leaves for all their passion,
Can leap again into the trees to cover,
Branches in their April fashion.
Summer gave us ways to touch,
But now, reaching out in vain,
There’s nothing more that we can feel,
But the chill November rain.
And yet, doesn’t April need this November?
Just as a leave-taking suits us too.
How else shed old habits and betrayals,
To make space for all that’s new?
Even though a long-time friend of Ron, I forget how incredibly talented and multi-faceted he was. This poem he wrote is testimony to that. I loved his father; he and I hit if off big time.
I miss Ron, human that I am, although I know he is with me always.
He and my father are inspirations to me, especially with their writing, and speaking from the heart skills.
When I am writing (a book now) I feel their presence often, but it is not the same as sharing a lunch at Panera Bread as we did so often or sharing a big hug and an encouraging or uplifting conversation.
Then right as I could use their support, while going through the bittersweet time of launching a 4th child into HS graduation and off to college, I get this poem, November’s Song and Ron again comforts me with his poetry. I need November’s song to make room for the new things that are coming but that I cannot yet see. Borrowing words from singer-songwriter, Phoebe Snow, “You’re the poetry man, you make things alright.”