Chenille dotted foothills
Boast more gold
Than green
As summer
Sinks into the leaves
This first day of fall.
Harvest toil
Sweats
Under scorching sun;
Its dust
Hovers in clouds
Over the valley.
It is only a
Harvest moon
That waits
For first frost
And long
Chilly nights.
Carolyn Brunelle
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harvest-moon-5/
