We shall have, Annabel,
In November this,
With the changing of trees,
And the changing of skies,
And the changing of sun,
And the changing of all.
You will smile other, Annabel,
Feel other, Annabel,
Look on the past other, Annabel.
In November, in mornings,
With hushedness in woods,
And leaves falling to earth,
And the sun far,
O Annabel, a new world for you and all.
Summer's worms will have gone.
Trains will be in autumn's form.
Houses will show autumn.
Fires will seem other.
Where will be the possessions of many, many springs?
Where will be the quarrels, vexations, desires, longings of hundreds of springs and hundreds of summers,
Hundreds of autumns, many, many winters?
You will live then, Annabel, this to be November, and you will step on leaves touching earth, lying on pavements, lying in roads, lying by doorsteps, lying by trolley-tracks, and in quiet, rich suburbs; these leaves, these leaves.
Annabel, in November, you will be November Annabel.
It will be Annabel winds; Annabel skies; Annabel sun; Annabel autumn; Annabel all.
For ourselves make what we're in, what we have, what's around us, what is with us, and you, Annabel, make a world for yourself, make a yourself world, make this world, make the world yourself.
Annabel, with November, this November coming, coming November, it will be Annabel November.
Because, how else could it be?
Annabel, how else could it be, this Annabel November?
From Hot Afternoons Have Been in Montana: Poems (Definition Press)
© 1926, 1957 by Eli Siegel