December comes riding

The wind is rattling leaves and tossing them from the trees.
The moon is clear and smiling, whispering farewell to the geese.
The road is a dark ribbon against the snowy moor,
And December, she comes riding--
     Riding--riding--
December, she comes riding to the NaNo writer's door.

Over the cobbles she clatters and clashes on the heels of the clock.
She taps with her candy cane lightly, but the writer's door is locked.
She whistles a tune to the window, her breath a swirling frost,
But the writer cannot hear her.
     The NaNo writer ignores her.
Within his story, the writer is lost.

The wind is rattling leaves and tossing them from the trees.
The moor is clear and smiling, whispering farewell to the geese.
The road is a dark ribbon against the snowy moor,
And December, she comes riding--
     Riding--riding--
December, she comes riding to the NaNo writer's door.

You cannot turn her away, pen monkey.
You cannot delay her for long,
So let your fingers fly tonight.
Dear NaNo Writer, keep writing--
     Writing--writing--
NaNo Writer, keep writing before December's light.