Cold, dark clouds skid past maturing crops, lone fishermen,
And empty docks.
The “F” word dominates the forecast nights,
As we rescue summer fruit in fleeting bites;
Last minute summer rites.
What hoary remnants will we catch
As we search the morning garden patch?
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Gene R. Stark
A teacher, farmer, trapper, and greenhouse grower. He writes about the outdoors and the people and culture of rural America..