When the vines have given up their last
Fruits of earth are memories past
Brown and brittle are stem and leaf
Their green long stolen by autumn’s thief
When twig and weed are all that remain
To show the end of summer’s reign
A frost the sun can no longer defend
And this is surely garden’s end.
Filed under Poetry
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Ashley O'Melia, Author 
I’m initially saddened by a final harvest of any of my vegetables. But I know that since I live in Southern California, there’s something for that next season to take over. Nice poem.
Thank you. I’m in Southern Illinois, so we have a decent growing season but it’s never as long as I would like! However, my kitchen window is full of live herbs in the winter. 🙂