Kenlo Bertram

Harvest

Sweet the smell of apple squeezin's
The air is dark with hosts
No stars can show a glimmer
And the world is full of ghosts

The moon on the horizon
Is a gateway from the earth
A glowing orange portal
Growing from embers on my hearth

I walk with quickened footsteps
What has kept me out so late?
Leaves around my ankles swirl
As I hurry to my fate

Pull my garments even tighter
The breeze is crisp with chill
I cannot quite remember...
Yet I hurry forward still

I know each late October
When the darkness comes around
Before allowing sweet November
We must meet on sacred ground

I know it's not the solstice
Cause we haven't brought the boughs
And I can still smell leaves a'burning
And hear the lowing of the cows

The lane is lined with trees
Whose branches reach the sky
Like darkened clawing fingers
And the wind blows by and by

As I come upon the rise
And reach the top around the bend
I know my last long journey
Is most likely at an end

In the glow I see their figures
Harvest moon makes their sillouettes
Sway to and fro like shadowboxes
Or some stringed marionnettes

Some have joined their hands together
In a dance most macabre
Other cavort in moonlight wildly
It's a sight for sore eyes to see

Harvest Moon is a celebration
Where free spirits fly the skies
Leave this earth through moon's bright doorway
But make it back through before sunrise.

Poem Submitted: Monday, October 22, 2007
Poem Edited: Monday, April 18, 2011

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