The Tree

Even now this landscape is assembling.

The hills darken. The oxen

sleep in their blue yoke,

the fields having been

picked clean, the sheaves

bound evenly and piled at the roadside

among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:

This is the barrenness

of harvest or pestilence.

And the wife leaning out the window

with her hand extended, as in payment,

and the seeds

distinct, gold, calling

Come here

Come here, little one

And the soul creeps out of the tree.

Poem: All Hallows by Louise Glück

Products: patterned paper (Webster's Pages, Pink Paislee, and Basic Grey), pearls (Michaels Stores Inc.), Mini Halloween Bingo Cards (Jenni Bowlin Studios), kraft tree (Bank Creek Creations), Deco Pins (Making Memories)