The Harvest

The harvest is a joyful time
As ladders raise and picker's climb
Cutting, pruning, harvesting
Autumn's first and final fling

Harvesters with hungry eyes
Pick and pull their crunchy prize
To rounded stacks in picking pails
Yanking stems as clinging fails

Last summer's heat and windy grapples
Brought down some young and saucy apples
To grounded beds, while tree mates cling
Brown fodder for our next year's spring

Apple pies and apple sauce
Remind us of Old Eden's loss
For we must work for what we eat
We sweat and toil for God's best treat

Apples sing a joyful score
Of God's own goodness to its core
And just before cold winter snow
We harvest what only God could grow