“It is harvest time, in the garden, and not just for us humans” Gun Roswell

Behind, the lush grown, hidden small size gates
A tiny, really old dwelling, the on looker baits
And, for the odd traveller, just passing by
To simply dare, to step, inside
For there is nothing more alluring, than the unknown and divine

The cottage, once, in screaming bright red painted
But now, mostly, the exterior’s inviting flash, is all faded
It is as quaint as the trimmings of the windows
But still standing strong, even after all the wind blows
And into the past, the history, it invites to explore

Guarded, by the tiniest of inanimate gnomes
Sitting there, in a solemn quiet and an orderly row
They seem smiling and totally life like
And, if you dare to misstep, then you will feel their spite
For they are the guardians of the cottage’s life

The trees, now filled with apples, oranges and berries
After all, it is that time, most of us cherish
The Autumn falling slowly, onto the waiting land
With all the colours so bright, you can hardly stand
Foliage, they dwellers say, and then, offer you a hand

It is now, near harvest time, for both the bees, birds and human kind
Every single living thing gathering their reward, knowing, they have scored
When their stomachs are filled with delicious nectar and food
From apples, oranges, berries, and all, who can really and honestly choose!
So step into the world of wonder, you really have nothing to lose!