When honeysuckle twines about the window panes <br />and you can smell it's scent as you walk down country lanes. <br />Once again the purple blossom hangs above the garden walls <br />then all at once it disappears and every petal falls. <br />Fresh and fragrant is the rain as it settles on every green leaf <br />Then it performs a miracle, to the golden wheat sheaf. <br />Across the golden field you can see the splendour rise <br />from a mucked out field to the beautiful blue sky's. <br />Even when the wind is sweetened to the breath of the evening <br />breeze, it takes away that sharpness that bellows through the <br />trees.Nature hangs green curtains, that are never ever drawn <br />yet sometimes we feel that she has left us forlorn. When in the <br />orchard the snow has fallen and there is a spray of wintry white, <br />then every bit of green seems to disappear in a frost bitten night. <br />From of her branches dead leaves flutter, but the roots remain, <br />the same and someday, the sap will rise again. <br />The world has it's seasons and nature gives us it's reasons, <br />why the field takes a purple bloom that deepens into the night; <br />as the birds move in flocks to take their homeward flight. <br />What are the green leaves saying, what do the tall trees say, <br />that Britain's soil is bountiful each and every day <br />When 'Harvest Time' arrives and the summer nights are dead <br />just think of what you've planned for the coming year ahead.<br /><br />sylvia spencer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harvest-time-2/
