There is more beauty
Than one’s heart supposes
Wandering here with the Beloved
In the morning, with the dew on the roses.
The smell of the swathing and harvest of crops
Has the heart full of gratitude
It is so full it almost stops.
The animals are gathering while so full of mirth
The bountiful harvest of beloved Mother Earth.
The laughter of children
The stories of the elders as they sit shelling peas
Provide me with a melody
As I fill the cupboards and freezer with gifts….
Oh, the bountiful harvest gives one’s spirit a lift
As love wafts on the breeze.
My beloved is coming soon home from his visit
His long walk-about has taught him of the Creator’s great love
Of the love within himself, of the love from above.
Oh this bountiful harvest makes lift worth the living….
I have Joy enough to spread around…
It will be used for the forward giving.
There is more beauty
Than one’s heart supposes
Wandering here with the Beloved
In the morning, with the dew on the roses.
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The Crone, remembers, the harvest and the preparations of the feast for the beloved.