Mast Year

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Under the burdened apple tree,
Late rubies tumble and fall,
By a lagoon of calm stillness,
Mists envelope like a shawl,
Furry acrobats enjoy swollen kernels,
Hints of future ciders are drawn,
Strewn in over abundance,
Across the garden lawn.

In the wild hedgerows of the hither-land,
That brim so full of life,
Cutting the rolling farmland,
Into a quilt of patchwork delight,
A rustling and something stirs,
Beneath feathers of green and gold,
Gatherers of harvest’s splendour,
Indeed they are now so bold!

Across a field of razors,
Reigns silence and a naked air,
Shadowless and almost featureless,
The land laid barren and bare,
Encircled by giants in autumnal robes,
Arms spread wide yet hang so low,
Prickly baubles burst at the seams,
Expectant creatures wait below.

To the forest of scarlet umbrellas,
Where the air fills with spinning wings,
Cloven hooves patter and rummage,
Amongst shells trampled by antlered kings,
Balmy days of sharing with peers,
And a right to feast and store,
Mast fills the eyes with joyous tears,
Like the glorious years of yore.

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