Look, now comes the harvest reaping
So don your most passionate clothes
And prepare yourselves for sleeping
For, yonder harvest moon doth glow!
Listen, I can hear her softly sweeping
Bringing with her soft blankets of snow
Cold sister who draws nigh a leaping
For, the north wind has started to blow!
Hurry, her chill comes coldly creeping
And your greenery will cease to grow
You shall miss my warm safekeeping
For, soon my children I too must go!
Timothy I. Brumley