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Harvest home

She starts with August gathered sheaves,
Whose golden stems lie over eaves,
Where many harvest homes ago,
The bread was baked, from seed well sowed.

The laden boughs all fruits have dropped,
And follows now the winding hop,
That sliced to earth by sickles sharp,
Is wound around the moving cart.

And swallows with their summered young,
Have preened their feathers and begun,
Their flight from cool September days,
To find the distant, warmer rays.

October breathes slow alchemies,
O’er rustling Spring’s now well‐worn sleeves,
The jewelled blackberry hedgerow high,
Is plucked by bird, and passerby.

Her Midas touch will now soon brush,
All that May weaved green and lush,
All meadows mown, all harvests home,
And swooping swallows southwards flown.

- Robert Graham

Good to have you visiting HealingGardens dot click. Thank you, with many thanks to Janet Allis for her lovely illustration.


A taste of the sea air here with Roberto's The Waves, Provence ⇒⇒

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