Finally all the year’s crops are all gathered from the fields

The waves claw the shore driven on by the North wind's howl

Like herds of Angus in the pasture, the snow clouds close in

The morning frost lingers longer on the grass each day

The chill air has a bite to it and it nibbles at my ears

The Sheep tie themselves into a knotty drift huddled in the shed

Fuzzy horses billow streams of steam from their velvety noses

Chickens stay glued to their nests making egg gathering longer

Even the Sun stays in bed a little longer to avoid the cold

Heat from the hearth fire a welcome change from chill

Warm morning smells fill the room, tugging at the stomach

A mug of tea, a hot scone dripping butter and homemade jam

The day reaches out, long and hard before the gathering dusk

When the hearth will again warm bones and soul

Pale light of the moon stretching over the dormant fields

Until the mists of the next morn gather again