I write this poem for a friend a few years ago.
"Aubade of Autumn”
by Mark A. Davis
The vigorous, crisp, softness of the harvest,
A bounty bought to the table ripe-ready.
Rocks were fought,
Equipment rose up in protest,
Ox and horse struck against the hand of the master,
And the dry heat of deep summer
Plotted to ruin, rot, raze, the tender branches,
The tender buds, the tender fruit.
Inferno and gust, drought and machine,
Earth and kine in concord
Fought the course of the master
(The master whose plan said the seed will grow,
The vine will produce its fruit)
And so it is at the rich table rounded
With stews and fragrant vegetables,
Their aroma thick in the air,
A lullaby to the senses,
We gather among friends
With friends and embrace with
A word of Thanks.
