The Harvest Fulfills Us

In the naked light of the mid-day autumn sun, 

the harvester gently rakes the leaves and the last of the fallen apples, 

pausing every now and again to let small swarms of flies have their turn, 

and looking up he sees the lone fruit, hanging on so as not to be forgotten, 

and he plucks it from the branch and gives it a hard and satisfactory bite 

that echoes in the universal harvest of bounty and gratitude.