The November of Her Life

It's grey November with skies overcast,
There's not enough future and too much past
When wintry winds begin to moan
Those grating joints will make her groan.
As she watches the fire smouldering in the grate
And an inner voice laments: 'Too late,'Too late.'
In these fruitless years of cruel November
Her life is nothing but a dying ember.
'Too old for this,' and 'too old for that'
Living is tedious,boring and flat
She pines for the long-lost days of her youth
A glance in the mirror reveals the truth
It's so hard now, just to remember
In the sombre years of her November.

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