Oh autumn, when the geese head south

and sea lions play amid the kelp,

when sunsets paint their grey-red feast

against the ocean’s deepening.

Season of mists and mellow mirth

when leaves fall lazily to earth,

finding rest in soil that’s long been home

since earth was love and love was loam. 

Twenty long thousand years ago

this land was ice-scraped bare,

stripped to the rock, snow buried,

covered deep with silence.

Then oceans warmed and from afar

came tiny seeds from distant plants

blown by wind or dropped by dung,

minuscule prophets of a land that soon would

burst into a glorious world of colour,

fragrance exploding into flower,

filling the earth with cedars, oaks,

and forests wrapped in mist-rich cloaks

where bears and eagles gorge down deep 

on flesh of salmon, winter’s meat,

and in the spring fawn lilies sing 

the beauty of the land.

Such food, that native clans 

should feast so well and sleep so fine,

herring, halibut, blueberries, clams,

salmon, cranberries, oolichan. 

Such grace that land so fertile from the leaves 

and drowsy slumbers of ten thousand rotting summers

should recompose itself into a world so gay

that Pumpkin and Squash might hold their wedding day

down aisles packed tight with beets and carrots

fresh greens throwing kisses at their feet,

broccoli sounding the organ’s praise

while leeks sing forth their chorus.

“All hail to this union!” the onions cry

while the mangetout bridespeas giggle delight,

“All hail to this union in Gaia’s church,

who answers for this pair?”

“We do!” a human couple calls, 

young urban farmers from the city’s core

where wasteland that once grew shattered glass

now blooms with beets and spinach.

“We do!” they cry as with delight

five thousand sweetcorn dance into sight,

ten thousand lettuces on their arms,

swaying seductive charms.

“We do!” the great assembly calls 

as worms twirl round about,

“We announce thee wed!” the onions shout,

and Squash into Pumpkin’s arms she falls.

That night the heavens did open wide

as fruits and vegetables everywhere 

made love

with human farmers. 

Many the kisses and deep laid thrills 

as tendrils wrapped and wombs were filled,

many the eyes that gazed and loved

as Nature found her fortune.

So grow now, dance, and take delight

on Pumpkin and Squash’s wedding night.

Their nuptual bliss awaits our light

to re-empower Nature.

                                  Guy Dauncey