Late Harvest

Upon the frosted sward,
   I see
The closing tenant of fall’s yard -
   A sparrow-laden plum tree
Blustered by twittering
   Fruit, last flowers,
On silver-embellished towers,
   Low sunlight glittering.
Through summer’s fallen estate,
   As instrument of landlord winter, I
A northerly wind instigate
   With my passing,
My effect surpassing
   All threats of snow,
Like tempest gales blow,
   Pluck the final harvest bare,
Scatter blossoms to the air,
   Into an apparition of November sky.

~ Daniel F Mitchell