The digging is almost done.
Two late hills of red potatoes,
a row of carrots, one more cabbage
and a short row of green peppers.
The tomatoes will give out a few more
but the vines are giving up.
They offer fruit even as they are dying.
The long night closes over the red.
There are still some pears to put up.
The Librarian has asked for pear sauce.
When the wee goddess is ready
she will feast on pears and this love of ours.
We will bed down in straw and compost.
We will take our rest and feast.
We cannot see the green days to come,
but they are out beyond the horizon.
Trains, planes and ships make their way into the now.
The cold garments of yesterday
will be made clean and renewed.
so shall we in the feast we share.
Behind each chair at this banquet
stands a long line of remembrances.
On this feast, all portals are open.
From the cellars to the chimney top, the barriers are undone.
The springs of water that move under the earth,
the waters of all the world,
shall flow unstopped and unhindered.
The doors to yesterday and tomorrow are unbarred.
Pass the platters of joy, the dish of kindnesses.
Let me help you to neat wedge of pie.
The bottle stands before you, pour and pass it on.
The liquor of it will loosen our collars and lift our shoulders.
This is our day of gratefulness.
This is our day of gladness.
This is our day to remember them.
This is our day to make peace.