We might get six inches of snow late Saturday and into Sunday. So, although I'm a little tardy, I want to post this paean to late November before I forget for another year. I'm not quite at the point described in the sonnet, but that's a quibble. I've been an old soul since I was fourteen; and for an entire teaching career, I've identified with the concluding couplet's "to love that well/ which thou must leave ere long." It's a poem for all teachers and all students as well as those at a certain stage of life.
As I write that, dusk turns to dark, on cue, at 5:30 in Michigan.
Sonnet LXXIII: That Time of Year thou mayst in me Behold by William Shakespeare : The Poetry Foundation [poem] : Find Poems and Poets. Discover Poetry.
And at the risk of beating dead horses, what would Picasso say about this poem?
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