Harvest Time
HARVEST TIME
Golden yellows, mixed by rum reds,
Plum lavenders spice, these are the
Colors of autumn.
Textures layers blown across the lawn,
Leave it lay, rake it not, this variations
Of decorations variety.
Rarities design by mistake, and
Happenstance, but with such beauty's
Detail, one must stop and wonder,
At it's awesome natural splendor.
Even the evergreens fall silent, to
A hushed whisper, to marvel at
The canvas, spread out before them.
Rustling not a quivers motion,
As a crisp, chilling, October wind
Brushes against their thorny pine
Needles.
Nature does rest at a paused stillness,
Soon she'll slumber, beneath the winters
Blanket of ice and snow.
Nay, not to the last leaf falls, in a twilight
Sleep, than to dream, once more of spring
Eternal.
Now it is harvest time, men pick the
Final ripened fruit from their orchards,
Glen the fields of hay and straw to the
Last roots foundation.
Family members gather, from far and
Near, to give thanks for a bountiful
Harvest.
A season of thanksgiving, good will
And cheer, with warm apple cider, and
Pumpkin pie.
In mystery's dexterity, the maiden
Does sigh softy, with a peaceful
Good night, to the world of men.
Than ever so slowly closes her
Eyes gently, til the warmth of
Spring time reawakens, mother
Nature once again.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
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