When holly berries turn crimson red
And the Sun goes early to her bed,
Summer meadows fade to umber
The squirrel hoards for his long slumber.
Then is the time for Hobbit hands
To gather the goodness from the lands.
Before the silver Moon grows cold
Together we'll harvest fields of gold.
Apples, plums and gooseberries sweet,
The ripened barley and fattened wheat.
Then merrily we'll brew and bake
Amber ale and golden cake!
Yesterday I was contacted by a very talented poet Liza Jones, who is looking to combine her poetry with my paintings.