Harvest

The generosity of earth unfolds,
opens wide its arms,
as summer days fade into chill.

Harvest wealth tumbles from luscious
vines and stoic stems.
Trees pregnant with bounty
bow in offering.

Cicada song my lullaby.

The gracious earth
does not demand
but freely gives itself to me.

Oh, Holy Mother,
Creator Exuberant,
I revel in being your child blessed.

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