November

There isn't much to say I haven't said
Already. But I can't stop talking. I
Have followed everywhere that you have led
Without a murmur, yet I sit and sigh
Because you have stopped leading. Now you say
That I alone must search out my own way
Without your guidance, or more properly
Not chasing after you. I know that's fair
And yet it seems unbearable to me
To wander lonely when you could be there.
As I look to follow you, I mull
The possibility of saying more;
I should be silent, for my words are dull,
And you have heard this whole complaint before.