Bringing in the Sheaves

blackbird harvest

 

Sing a song of harvest,

A sheaf of golden rye;

Four and twenty blackbirds

Taking to the sky.

Sing a song of plenty,

Of food that’s gathered in;

Heralding the season

That stores so much within.

 

 

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Little Sunset on the Prairie

Little sunset on the prairie

marks a rest for all the weary

farmers; scent of barley hangs

where combines left the straw with bangs.

Harvest Moon

Harvest moon, you nod and wink

at farmers working hard below

to gather in what’s on the brink

of being smothered by the snow.

What insects we must look to you,

who wisely rule the sky above;

remind our hearts that earthly views

are trumped by those whose rays are love.