When November Comes

The rain knows every window; leaves gather by the doorway like old friends coming home.
I pull your chair beside the fire,
Though you're not sitting there; funny how a room remembers someone who's no longer here.
When November comes,
I feel the years somehow; the children have their own lives,
And I'm the old man now.
But I still thank God for every chair that once surrounded me; some blessings become memories,
But they're blessings still to me.
There's coffee on the table,
A Bible by my side; your picture catches firelight,
And for a moment you're alive.
Soon they'll come for Thanksgiving,