"Thanksgiving Time"

The Autumn season finishes the year,
Hangs harvest moon in cooler atmosphere.
Grain ripens, wheat and oats leap into shocks,
We hasten toward the year's last equinox.

For Winter hides behind a northern sky,
Floats in each wavering wind that flurries by.
Thanksgiving time, corn hurries toward the barn
As ice forms isles on meadow-brook and tarn.

At borderland of every fertile field,
Marauding crows peck at remaining yield
Of grain dropped by machine or man, unseen.
They chatter as they sweet the furrows clean.

Apples, like small, red worlds, plunge down the night
On orchards, in mounds beautiful and bright;
Fall changes little as the years go by.
The prairie folk are glad, and so am I.

For every single blessing gives a reason
That we rejoice at this Thanksgiving season!

Stella Craft Tremble