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The Reaper's Harvest by Stewart Stafford
Vast underworld gates open on Samhain night,
The grail Sun winters there, in paling sight.
Unquiet spirits swarm forth in feral misprision,
Trick-or-treat landlords knock in spectral vision.
Autumn, perennially-early to Death's season,
Winter's welcome overstayed in icy reason.
Spring's distant wave thrills in emerging seed,
Summer's blush in full alignment decreed.
Snowflake to blossom, and greenery to withering;
As effigy reminders of cyclical dithering,
Seasonal standing stones sink to shifting sands,
Saplings of the forest’s new strength, in nature’s hands.
© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.
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