The Native Harvest

In the late of summers end the grasshopper jumps higher
For the fields of grass and crops begin their end
Farmers rake the hay bales for their cattle
As the crickets enter the sing along with the locusts at dusk
One or two splashes of bullfrogs along with a couple of muskrats down at the lake
The whispers of the native women tucking their young in a deers blanket
On a cool night the wind kicks in and the green of the sky cries with thunder
The last of the corn shall be picked and dried and ground for meals for winter ahead
As I lay my head back I look up and thank Mother Nature for sharing this spread
As the wise of the owl and the howl of the timber wolf put us to rest