November sunsets under which we play,
We pass gold frosted fields and sparkling lakes.
Explore our hometown like bright eyed new babes
My eyes do feel more open as of late.
More open to the changes that we are,
Do you see how you’ve become something else?
Will you, butterfly, follow seasons far?
Tell me, where points the compass of yourself?
Are you a cocoon, I must free, to go?
I can see you in the November sky,
But I fear you may fall in flakes of snow
From December clouds that I will never find.
To fall on grounds my feet will never walk,
To forget all the truths of which we talked.