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Rites of Fall


Alice C. Bateman

The Bacchanalia, rites of fall

Come enter one, and enter all

Into a time of Bounty's reap

The summer's splendour Nature keeps


The Harvest Moon upon her throne

Shows us all we've ever known

Of summer's passage, slumber, spring

The autumn would not mean a thing


Without the greys and grace of age

Of winter's winds upon our page

We could not see the joy of spring

When the winds at last will bring


The promises of brand new Life

Making all the winter's strife

A bane to live with and endure

For one sweet bud, forever pure

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