Year\'s Yield.
Now dawn is slowly brindling the heavens
with russet striations of honey-tone
cold, painting change of September mellow
on swaying meadows of harvest bonus.
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Now I bow to be-whiskering greenness
as autumn starts its downward chorus,
fields growing tawny with ready corn-ears
show time shoulders sything ever forward.
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Now cuddles down rootlets double-deep
for freeze urges races for extra cover
while underneath movement curls for sleep
garden-work waits until winter is done.
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now I shall lay down my own bent labour,
after nurturing yield will welcome rest
from summer abundance but in savouring
year\'s produce must start to plan for the next.