I'm under the impression
Of the lively November spirit,
Whose courts are wreathed-
With withered leaves o' merit

Whose earthen queen sits a’top
A macabre yet glowing throne,
Which partakes of winter draught
In every dried flower blown-

In from heels of autumn
October's broken message,
Blooming with the news of-
Sunlight's dreary-clouded hedges

Brightness sits behind his veil
Shadowing Selene's anticipation,
Siblings of the cosmic dance
Signifying our emancipation

From some state of confusion
In our quest for material lies,
The November spirit quivers
Behind the depth of our eyes

When all we see is here:
The Courts of Knowledge
And the Judge of Fear,
Fantasy remains ingrained-
Until the revolution of the year