Friday, October 17, 2003

A Fall's Night

The harvest moon hangs fat and orange from a wasting vine
Over ripe and drying fields dreaming under autumn frost's rime
Time to seal away the days to age with the new-casked wine

These nights stretch out forever under the skies of God's own mind
This is the fruit for which the year was spent, filled to the outermost rind
Now is the time to pull in casts, and back to the reel all catches wind.

Here is the season to reap what was sown
Here is the reason the high grass was mown
Soon shall a cold sun collect on a summer's loan
Now comes the road's son, stumbling, home.


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