November Love (My First Poem) (Two Versions)

Below, you will see two versions of my very first poem. Its important to understand that the first version of the poem is exactly as I wrote it at 6: 15 to 6: 30 PM on November 2nd 1970. I made no changes to it. It is also important to know that this was, in fact, my first ever attempt to write a poem of any kind whatsoever. The second version is modified from the first because I wanted to demonstrate how a few simple word changes can convert a rather average poem of some quality into a poem of great quality and structure. In early November the air is clear With many sounds of lovers near. Not as the April birds that sing Nor as the Sunday church bells ring. But rather to the rhythm of rain, The hearts of lovers beat again. For it's not true love that blooms in spring Nor is it of love that birds do sing. Rather of that love soon gone And never seems to carry on. That April love that all partake, But very few ever make. It's all year long this false love swells Till in November true love dwells. In November the air is clear With many sounds of lovers near. Not as the April birds that sing Nor as the Sunday church bells ring. Rather to the rhythm of rain, The hearts of lovers beat again. It's not true love that blooms in spring. Nor is it love, that birds will sing. But rather of that love soon gone Which never seems to carry on. That April love that all partake And very few will ever make. It's all year long this false love swells Till in November, true love dwells. I have removed the voting option on this poem and placed it in my Hall Of Fame, due to its history described above and its usefulness as an example to the readers.