In November by Cynthia Rylant. Harcourt, 2000.

Prose, but superbly poetic language. Take the very first page:

“In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures. The bed is white and silent, and much life can hide beneath its blankets.” 

A lovely metaphor that is vivid and gentle and fully accessible for any child. This continues throughout—trees are sticks and bones, spreading their arms like dancers; berries are the winter birds’ treasures; food smells orange. The story comes back to the bed image in the last line:

“...the world has tucked her children in, with a kiss on their heads, till spring.”

Beautiful, tender illustrations, a gorgeous book.