In harvest season there is a feast.

Between the neighbors, sons and daughters,

All eat their fill, then go to sleep.

Each year more come, and are invited

To reap the spring’s sowing before the winter

And the coming darkness.

But before the feast has come and gone,

The finest crops must be collected

And their seed allowed to continue on.

In harvest season there is a feast

To fill the air with love and life,

To thank the coming of another dawn.

But more than that, to thank the farmers

Who planted food they’d never eat,

Who planned for shade they’d never see,

Who’ve made our winters a little warmer.