The Golden Fertility of the Harvest

He is the sinking of the final red orange sun of the glowing summer Warmth no longer oozing and seeping into the pores as I lie bare under the skies Jeweled dewdrops on the morning grass to dampen bare feet all softness under And the shimmer on the surface of the lakes like the diamonds in your eyes He is the golden cusp pf Autumn's Fertility The ritual dance of the scarecrow in the breezes (Straw coming loose and flying towards you, most certainly will brush up against you and tickle before he ceases) And this thinner less lumpy all seeing scarecrow Seems to be in no remorse: his knowing face will always grin And his arms will always be raised in a wave to show He will protect the yellow brown stalks that bend before him He is the crisp wind that caresses the crinkled foliage Their rustling like long flowing skirts on a 1940s ballroom floor These winds chill the fingers and toes and your face with the stinging red roses Yet when winter beckons the retreating light, we will be frozen at its core He is silent snowfalls and many winter moons And the brown earth beginning to expose itself The uncoiling of green and mud beginning to ooze And all new life breaking free from its fragile shell