Already The Tree On The Mountain Poem by Paddy J. P. Harris

The fruits that the summer was growing
Are picked from the bushes and fields.
I wonder if the creatures were knowing,
To us all their sweetness would yield?

The mists of the autumn are thickening,
Though rank with dark fumes and smells.
And all on the earth is near sickening.
And it’s us they are cursing for this hell.

Already the tree on the mountain
Is torn from its leaves by the wind,
They float down the waters of the fountain
To us in the valley that sinned.