Seasons Mist
As the season's mist descends
upon the coming harvest.
The sweet smelling blossoms,
consumed.
The fruits, hung heavily on the vines,
Sweet, savory.
Emitting, a delightful fragrance.
The powerful scents, clung, upon the mist,
floating.
As the shadow breaks, upon the wall,
the arms of the sun embrace
the seasonal face of mother nature.
Unsurpassed by beauty,
nurturing,
this season's bountiful yield.
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2012
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