The summer ends, and it is time
 To face another way. Our theme
 Reversed, we harvest the last row
 To store against the cold, undo
 The garden that will be undone.
 We grieve under the weakened sun
 To see all earth’s green fountains dried,
 And fallen all the works of light.
 You do not speak, and I regret
 This downfall of the good we sought
 As though the fault were mine. I bring
 The plow to turn the shattering
 Leaves and bent stems into the dark,
 From which they may return. At work,
 I see you leaving our bright land,
 The last cut flowers in your hand. 
~ “The Summer Ends” by Wendell Berry
 
			
 
			





 
			
 
			
 
			





 
			


 
			




 
			
 
			
 
			