A Poem By VANYA JONES

 

Harvest.

This twilit homestead feeling.

A gathering in, a flickering out.

 

Honey-gold and russet overhead and underfoot.

Summer’s final breath fans amber fields.

 

One starry sky later:

Autumn greets you in his morning-mist embrace.

Mama Earth knows best.

Last chance to stockpile sun for winter dark.

 

You may wish the winds of time away

But never mourn for seasons past.

Even rain can’t weep

Forever.