The Bacchanalia, rites of fall
Come enter one, and enter all
Into a time of Bounty's reap
The summer's splendour Nature keeps

The Harvest Moon upon her throne
Shows us all we've ever known
Of summer's passage, slumber, spring
The autumn would not mean a thing

Without the greys and grace of age
Of winter's winds upon our page
We could not see the joy of spring
When the winds at last will bring

The promises of brand new Life
Making all the winter's strife
A bane to live with and endure
For one sweet bud, forever pure

Author © Alice C. Bateman
Express permission given
by the author for use of
this poem.


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