In the big city, our harvestís a moon By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)
Farm folks fill us with luscious fall food
Be not mistaken, thereís a harvest of kind,
Memories of summer, harvested in the mind.
While one is seated by a facsimile fire,
That vacation ride will thought inspire,
Dreams of the Alps, or old Mexico,
Or brochures of new places in summer to go.
That fishfry on a mountain side
Or faux horse and carriage ride,
The beach where you met and rolled in the sand,
The moonlit night, romantic band.
If apples and pumpkins have to be bought,
Nor fresh gathered from farms like they ought,
We have a cornucopia of souvenirs, photographs, memories,
To share with our Thanksgiving families.