I asked chatgpt what it thought about November to Surrender and it responded
November Surrender
November stirs in strange disguise,
as amber leaves brush summer skies.
Where frost should cling to dawn’s soft breath,
a warmer wind denies its death.
Bare trees wear gold but hold their green,
caught in a warmth they’ve rarely seen.
Sun lingers where the chill should play,
and summer whispers: “I’ll not stray.”
Sweaters lie folded, waiting still,
as balmy airs defy the chill.
Scarves and coats stay packed away,
while autumn yields to skies of May.
November leans on summer's shoulder,
its crisp edge softened, growing bolder.
So let it be—a strange delight—
to hold this warmth through autumn’s flight.