November

November by Payson Sibley Wild

A dialect poem spoken by a rustic narrator who contrasts yesterday's dark, stormy sky with today's startlingly spring-like warmth despite the nearness of Winter. He marvels at the vivid, un-autumnal colors in the foliage, every hue but blue, and finds in the sunlit Fall wheat fields and a sweet scent among the stover a hopeful promise that the earth is readying for rebirth once the War and Winter pass.

By Payson Sibley Wild · Genre: Poetry, Nature Poetry, Pastoral Literature · 422 words

First lines

Sich a mornin' o' glory I've rar'ly saw, / Tho' they tell me thet Winter is nigh; / The sun's fairly glary, an' hez a reel carry, / An' I'm swattin' a bothersome fly.

The sky was ez black ez one o' Bill's blots / When over a letter he muddles; / An' the win' blow'd a blast, an' the rain fell fast, / An' the groun' was a huddle o' puddles.

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dialect poetry · vernacular verse · rustic speaker · autumn colors · color observation · weather contrast · November · winter approaching · rural setting · agricultural landscape · wheat field imagery · hope and resilience

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