Harvest

The sun sets upon the glassy horizon
of still mirrored water, reflecting the sky,
the leaves are all turning to colors of burning
cherry, canola, and blossoming fire.
The flowers all faded where the sun was not shaded
and there's barely a whisper of wind to be felt,
the harvest draws nigh as the summer's gone by
and there's the fragrance of tender cut grass to be smelled.
Butterflies flutter by on the breath of the shadows
as they lengthen and lay down their heads on the ground,
fireflies come awake as the sky turns to midnight
and the night comes alive as they flitter around.