Years Have Sped By

Poems

The Third Season

Not with ease up the stairway you tread,

Quite difficult 'tis your body to bear . . .

Your demeanor's no longer gay,

As the harvest call comes near! . . .

 

You've only entered the third score's season . . .

In the garden, the ripening of fruits has begun,

Glowing in the field, full-eared-the corn . . .

Your time for reaping and gathering has come!

 

You have fulfilled your mission long ago . . .

Made your contributions to the world

With fruits and greenery-so blessed . . .

Much grain in barn and grannery stored! . . .

 

'Tis long, 'tis long yet till winter,

Though heavy the tread on the path you wend . . .

And sometimes your thoughts do falter . . .

But groan? Groaning's not for you, my friend!

 

Well into the third score's season you've entered,

Nature's bounty on trees mature . . .

In the fields, the corn is golden . . .

The fragrance of ripening's in the air! . . .

 

At eventide -- when the sun goes down,

Inhale deeply of this delight . . .

As you hear the harvest's call,