In November.

In November.
505-6

When October’s golden days
Darken to November’s haze
You can sing a song of praise
And a joyful endence raise
If your step is spry.

But if with the nipping breeze
You are lame in both your knees
As the leaves fall from the trees
And the golden sunshine flees,
Then you’ll wall and sigh.

Sigh nor see that in the sky,
White and gray go floating high
As the wind tears madly by
And you sit and wonder why
You have rheumatiz.