The yellow haze of autumn
falls across the field.
All the grass tips are touched
with dabs of Paris green.
Together in the wind
they are the brushstrokes
for this canvas of a golden hour
and spill over the horizon
like the harvest of tomorrow.
The yellow haze of autumn
falls across the field.
All the grass tips are touched
with dabs of Paris green.
Together in the wind
they are the brushstrokes
for this canvas of a golden hour
and spill over the horizon
like the harvest of tomorrow.