November Dusk






                                  
          

November Dusk by Ethel Romig Fuller


All day long the clouds hung low
As if they were weighted down by snow.


There was no sound of beast or bird;
No crisp leaf, no cornstalk stirred.

Ruts and stubble were embossed,
Lichen-fashion, by hoarfrost.

As dusk closed in a little more
Dun than day had been before,
The west sky opened just a chink, 
Releasing one wan streak of pink

Which radiated thru the gloom
Like candlelight in a shadowed room;


The flickered out. A lone dog's bark
Ushered in a starless night.

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