Seasons Turn

by brian francis

When winter lays her bounty white
Across the grassy knolls and meadows
Frosty winds blowing a shivering gale
Drift the shallows and fences high
Its harrowing voice a banshee wail

Spring breathes a warming breath
Stirs the sleeping potential hidden
To rise up to stand and budding bloom
To tempt the bees to visit caressing
From flower to flower bride to groom

In summer the nests sing and chirp
The flowers disappearing lost to fruit
Weighing the limbs to sag from drupe
The cornucopia of nature’s stunning gifts
Constant in nature a recurring loop

The harvest, fall’s generous gathering
The reward of the farmer’s long days
lowering of the sun from high in the sky
Cold winds start to blow a whispering wail
A prelude to winter’s harrowing cry

Copyright ©2021 brian francis

Harvest Days

by brian francis

The mountain is rusting
Its color dulling and shedding in the wind
Leaves chattering in the breezes
Prepare to release and fly away
Like a fledgling readying for its first flight
They cling tight to their branches
As they flap and chatter in the wind

Blustery days penetrate deep their chill
As the warm days of summer become a memory
No more the complaints of sweat and steam
But the seeking chill that inspires dread and moaning
Shivers dance upon our spines and legs
Like spiders crawling upon our dried husks
The chill plays and seeks to annoy

Gray skies build their soft light
Staunching the touch of the sun’s warming rays
Drawing down the mind’s defenses
And edging it toward sorrowful thoughts
The scythe works in the fields swinging
as the golden shafts of seed lay down
the harvest fills the days with work unending

Copyright © 2020 brian francis