The season of harvest is now close at hand,

But I guess they’ll forget me again;

My grapes will all ripen and fall to the ground;

My leaves will fly off on the wind.


There once was a big house nearby where I grow

With a farmer who gave me good care;

He and his family would gather my fruit;

They would eat some; the rest they would share.


His wife would make jellies and jams and preserves;

All winter they’d spread it on bread.

And when it was gone, well, they just couldn’t wait

‘Til the grapes came again, so they said.


But farming got tougher and money got tight.

They heard of a job far away

That offered good wages, so they sold off their farm.

A moving van drove up one day.


It took that dear family to paved city streets;

I hope they found happiness there.

That autumn they came back to pick all my grapes;

Their good-byes made my old vines despair.


I thought I would die—and I wanted to die;

But one day, a man just passing through

Was famished, so he ate grapes and slept in my shade, Then continued his journey like new.


Now birds build their nests in my branches and twigs,

Near my roots is the home of some pheasants;

Foxes and bees, and all kinds of wild things

Let me know they enjoy my presence.


So as my grapes ripen each passing September,

Though some friends have seemed to forget,

My fruit is still needed, so I will remember

That God isn’t done with me yet.

Wayne West, Maine CFO, Autumn, 1997