The Gold Harvest
by Greg Zemlansky
The last warmth of the sun with
chilly mornings and pleasant
afternoons.
The golden harvest has quieted
down the noisy loons.
The Heaven sky has been blessed
with a spectacular colorful sight.
The Canadian geese have taken
their back home flight.
The golden harvest has been here
and now is gone.
The sun doesn’t want to rise over
the horizon at dawn.
It’s rays barely saunters through my
frosted window.
Bits of sunny glints through slender
naked limbs where surviving leaves
hang low.
The chimneys have started their zigzag
smoke snaking upward towards the
cold harvest sky.
The crickets whirr and the bees hum
are all saying “Good-bye.”
The golden harvest all is gathered in and
the cold north wind does blow.
Orchards have shared their bountiful
treasures and “Old Man Winter”
waiting anxiously to say “Hello.”
