Good luck, dear November, I know that you’re ashamed
Of humanity’s cold weaknesses that gave you your great name.
I know you shiver at the sound of gunfire and of bombs.
I know you hate the fireworks that symbolise your fame.

Good luck, dear November, this year I wish you well.
I will not wear a poppy. I will not help them sell.
I see this on a higher plain, than glorious victory.
I see it in a darker light than any man will tell.

Good luck, dear November, I hope you forgive me.
My abandoning from this world – life’s got too much you see.
I’ll see you through, I swear, my month,
But then I’ll drift, please let me be.

Good luck, dear November, it’s here we part our ways.
You belong to me November or so my love, he says.
I’ll dance among the chestnuts, the dust, the sky, the leaves.
But this is it, November…the end of Autumn days.