The summers evening is a glorious gifting.
No lights out, just sunlight drifting.
The travail is
Acres of fields sweeping with ripeness.
Behold that combine harvester, done with greyness!
Bewildering this land, just now in green,
All yesterdays long hidden under-scene.
Seen of the
The sun out to play, for all to bask.
To perch on the fence with a flask,
Of tea. All only oneself
The yuletide card to paint,
A blanket drapes the landscape.
Clouds above lowering and laden, so
Woolgathering, passing footnotes a slow,
On this path where hooves before did tow.
With the script