Dusk of the Year
(Submitted by: Morngrym)


     Our fields are silent and barren
     The wheat has met the scythe
     Empty but for corner patches
     Grown over with lively vines and pumpkins

     The scarecrow still holds his lonely vigil
     Though there is no reason now
     Crows may flock until the spring
     When we drop the first seed

     Fallen leaves carpet the ground
     Colorful and crisp they lay
     Loudly announcing the passing
     Of even the wind

     And the trees' newly bare branches
     Hang as skeletal silhouettes
     Against the clear night sky--
     Watched over by the harvest moon

     The earth is becoming cold
     As hay strewn wagons rumble over it
     I sense hope in the cooling air
     A feeling of peacefulness

     It is a season to reflect
     On heated days and what they held
     A time to look toward winter
     And find a way to keep warm.


By Morngrym Verigost
      A Bard for all seasons...