It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanesAnd roofs of villages, on woodland crestsAnd their aerial neighborhoods of nestsDeserted, on the curtained window-panesOf rooms where children sleep, on country lanesAnd harvest-fields, its mystic splendor rests!Gone are the birds that were our summer guests,With the last sheaves return the laboring wains!All things are symbols: the external …
Empty Nest Homesteading 