When. Summer.s. evenings. fall. ,
And leaves. Of. Green turn to gold ,
and fires. In haths are stoked ,
and the sun gets lazy , .
Darkness steals its. Light .
Then  The churches are full ,
and each voice sings herolds. Winter and gusts. Of hale . ,
In hymns of thankfulness to God for a harvest .
Tins piled high for those in need are never to be forgotten .
A sermon on stones and seeds and chaff blown by the wind ,
Only then
The harvester will call .
Ring the bell
When in your beds ,
Or walking home
On rocky soil  don't. stay ,
For in  the spring we dance and forget we sow out seeds for  another day
For on stones like chaff ,
Lay seeds on rocks ,
and gravel get blown away .
by hale and gale ,
Wind and rain
Like time will pass.
And what was lost ,
Can never be gathered
When the harvester draws near.