Brigid Faye, Reader

To fall in a bed 

A bed of your making.

Freshly washed sheets.

There’s joy for the taking. 

Time to reap what you’ve sown

Enjoy some fruit

So laboriously grown. 

Toiling in the garden 

The garden of life

Is not without troubles and strife. 

The troubles seem worth it

Some precious times. 

The times we step back 

And enjoy all the growth. 

Mabon is the season

Fall is the time

When we wash all our pumpkins

So covered in grime. 

We wash and we cool

We step back and we eat. 

Eat of all the labor 

And time off our feet.