The Days Grow Shorter
The days grow shorter, the nights grow long,
The rains march down the hills and mountains,
Fog creeps softly though the valleys,
Bare limbs are cloaked in near obscurity,
The air is cold and damp, heavy with the weight of moisture.
But the winter grasses spread the hills and valleys with an emerald carpet,
The stark persimmon branches heavy with glistening fruits,
Winter's flowers brighter under leaden skies.
These are not the days of summer nor the colors
But the land is rich and homes adorned with twinkling lights
And the peoples generous to their neighbors.
May we always be mindful of this world,
Of it's infinite diversity,
It's wondrous variety
And share our riches as we share the richness of the world.