NOVEMBER
Reading edition
I will come back to you and you to me; When the poplar-trees blow white and the rooks fly home, And the fishermen draw their nets out of the sea; I will come back to you and you to me. When across the flooded weirs the wild-fowl fly, When the dead leaves fall from each remembered tree, When over the withered grass the plovers cry, I will come back to you and you to me.