Harvest Time

The ripe orange globe proclaims its coming
The birds are busy, the trees drop low
The harvest arrives this year with mystery
How shall we measure what we Know?

Shall we weigh the wheat to judge its bounty?
Shall we tender receipts to know our worth?
What have we got for all our striving?
How can we fathom this sweet birth?

Let us sit in silence by the river
And hear each story unfold complete
Somewhere in the tender telling
Is the treasure of the lives we reap

For all the glory of a thousand battles
And all the love that a heart could hold
Is in the softness of your mouth as it
Shapes the poetry that is your soul