We harvest the memories planted in the spring
And grown in the summer sun.
We remember harvests past
And in the crisp night air
Luminous with October moon
And the stars in the clear autumn sky
We bundle them like cornstalks
Silhouetted against the western horizon
A celebration of ghosts
At the witching hour
Soon to return to the earth
Preparing for winter dreams.

— Dr. Joe Byrne