The Harvest

By the broken barn
orange cottonwoods stand.
Near a rusted water pump
vines cover old wheels
on a busted tractor.

Wind rustles the leaves
and makes them dance
over crumbling stones.

Vagabond jays pick
at ruined pumpkins.

As dusk dissolves into dark
the October moon rises
while creeping moonlight
marks harvest’s end.

By Steven Wade Veatch