Harvest Time Poem by sylvia spencer

When honeysuckle twines about the window panes
and you can smell it's scent as you walk down country lanes.
Once again the purple blossom hangs above the garden walls
then all at once it disappears and every petal falls.
Fresh and fragrant is the rain as it settles on every green leaf
Then it performs a miracle, to the golden wheat sheaf.
Across the golden field you can see the splendour rise
from a mucked out field to the beautiful blue sky's.
Even when the wind is sweetened to the breath of the evening
breeze, it takes away that sharpness that bellows through the
trees.Nature hangs green curtains, that are never ever drawn
yet sometimes we feel that she has left us forlorn. When in the
orchard the snow has fallen and there is a spray of wintry white,
then every bit of green seems to disappear in a frost bitten night.
From of her branches dead leaves flutter, but the roots remain,
the same and someday, the sap will rise again.
The world has it's seasons and nature gives us it's reasons,
why the field takes a purple bloom that deepens into the night;
as the birds move in flocks to take their homeward flight.
What are the green leaves saying, what do the tall trees say,
that Britain's soil is bountiful each and every day
When 'Harvest Time' arrives and the summer nights are dead
just think of what you've planned for the coming year ahead.