Categories
Poetry

The cry of Harvest

Harvest seasons are pretty lovely times
For wheat turn pale, then glitter like gold
And roses grow even redder with the heat
If the strong winds stayed a little more time
Then the lawn will be filled with stray fruits;
So birds with rodents will make a dish of some

At each sunset, the farmers gather their tools
And march home, singing merrily on their way
The evening tell their tales outside the beer inns
Where they always met to talk of the days work
Girls spread nuts and seeds out in the airs of the evening
Guiding the seeds from the grasses that live nearby
Grass color change with the suns long traverse
Fresh succulent grapes fall into the baskets
Ready to make the farm a nice cup of wine
“Get the machines ready; let’s go bring in the hur-vest!”
One will hear the farmers call out in the morning, 
Greeting the farm folks with their harvest cries