This is my submission:
We walk in golden forests, breathe deep their spicy smell;
This is Autumn, this the Season,
Summer’s soft farewell.
Blue wood-smoke crests the plum-rose hills-
The titian pear gleams beneath its bough;
Looks down on one who tills the earth and will plow deeper
for next year's harvest.
Life never rests even beneath fresh turned soil-
Next year another crop, next year another toil.
twisted, plaited brakes of corn stand bereft
Now completely shorn of leaves and fruit.
The vegetables all leaf and root of them are pulled in and stored.
We, like squirrels, cache away our secret hoard;
The ruby jams, liquid amethyst in jars, all jewels of summer
Waiting to be spread upon the Festal Board.
Outside a cold mist hugs the ground,
While star-lit overhead
There’s a welcome knock, the guests arrive
In time for fresh-baked bread.
Blessings of welcome guests, fresh baked bread and joy.