november in poetry

this frozen season looks how I feel
or is it really the other way round
is any distinction between the two
just a delusion so I can believe
myself more significant
than I actually am
this giant world
this tiny human
frozen outside
frozen inside

the season will pass
there will be sun again
then the winter will return
as it did long before my birth
as it will long after I’m gone
the cycles are so far beyond
little old me how could I be
so arrogant to see
my face in these
ancient dances

the winter will be gone
before you even know it
we will all be gone and
seasons will not notice
and here we are anyway
it does not change
how cold it is
come November