Each in their turn forM 'lady Dee
Now autumn has passed. The old years dying
the harvest’s safely gathered in and stored.
The labourers have earned their just reward.
The breezes now no longer softly sighing
but as bitter winds are trying.
To break the trees like straws, without remorse.
Men are no longer working out of doors
but inside for tool repairing.
In preparation for the quickening,
when the spring sunshine banishes the snow.
In his full majesty all conquering
the sun dictates that it is time to sow
the seed to grow for future harvesting.
The seasons cycle yearly sure but slow.
12-Jun-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Added by Poetry Lover
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