November

Theres something in the midnight air
Round about this time of year.
When the leaves are gone,
And snow, the ground does don,
The sky seems crystal clear.

I find the stars shine brighter,
In their nocturnal cosmic fire.
Should I aim my head high,
And with my eye, try to spy,
A shooting star - a wish I will require.

But for what to ask, this November night?
Beneath the silver lunar light?
Someone to love, I should think,
To share troubles and a drink.
For solitude is - this time of year - a terrible plight.