I’m not so scary, after all, 

A season spent devoid of shade, 

When autumn leaves sway as they fall; 

A child once ran for his ball, 

With time and age does beauty fade.

My branches crackle, withered sticks

But do I look so differently?

Below you used to play your tricks,

When foliage shed and felt your kicks,

Now on your face, melancholy.

I think I’ve done all that I can, 

Your happiness my only aim;

We’ve aged together, you’re a man,

My roots still strong, intricate plan,

Outward appearance, gloom I feign.

I wonder if you pretend too, 

A look I have not seen before;

A subtle sadness, shade of blue, 

Your silent gait, November clue,

But like my roots, look deep, there’s more

Within you.

My November Guest, by Robert Frost