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Harvest TimeThe cherries and apples are plump and ripe, hanging lazily upon the trees, colorful maize rises high in the fields, waving in the gentle breeze. Pumpkins lie fat upon the fertile fields, bushes are full of bright blue berries, the golden wheat waits patiently for the farmer's scykle, and the peaches peek from the trees. It's harvest time again so farmers to their combines go, riding in wide dusty circles round the ripe fields, plucking up all the corn peas and wheat, leaving in their dusty wake bare fields. All is well on this merry morn, as the light frost burns off the once colorful fields, all is harvested and ready for market this crisp day, farmers everywhere take rest from their toils, another wonderful harvest now complete. For all the farmers out there who provide us with food throughout the year. I just wanted to say thankyou for all that you do. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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