Fading Summers
As summers fade and autumns near
There’s a different kind of atmosphere.
Instead of watching the vineyards grow
We harvest the grapes before the snow,
And time marches on as the seasons run
From early spring until summer’s done.
We’ll wait out the winter once again
Until it reaches up until its very end;
Then the planting and too the harvesting
As next year promises a fertile spring.
I wrote this poem for the "Belt and Beyond" magazine.
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