My first try at poetry

NOVEMBER (The Days of My Youth)

Golden brown leaves glow under the cool sun,

The tree that shed them stands almost bare and undone;

Birds in multitudes fly towards the welcoming south,

With music like honey dripping from their ever-cheerful mouths;

Cold winter awaits the departure of the cool autumn,

As the stubborn season changer beats his fateful drum;

As each day dawns with the absence of heat,

The early morning fog makes the soil smell sweet;

As I await the impending arrival of the vain December,

I wonder why I should ever let go this sweet November.