October's-time, all senses keen <br /> with quickened pulse and freshened air; <br /> to torpid languor bid adieu, <br /> the torrid Summer's reign is through, <br />when moon casts shapes with silvered sheen <br /> all souls to harvest soon repair. <br /> <br />Lithe graceful grasses stoop with grain <br /> in tawny umbered shades of brown; <br /> each richly fruited vine and tree, <br /> aburst with wine that's soon to be, <br />dried orange-yellow's hour again <br /> fair Gaea dons mute Autumn's gown. <br /> <br />Take full the bounty of the land <br /> thresh, winnow, grind, lay down your store; <br /> and reap as well the crop of you, <br /> preserve the ways this year you grew, <br />to serve the truth and understand, <br /> how more is less and less is more. <br /> <br />Mike Pollack<br /><br />MICHAEL POLLACK<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/october-s-time/
