do you know what the earth meditates upon in autumn?
when north wind breathes fresh worship
over cornfield of heavy stalks bowed down
as ripe apples bless orchard with abundance
and tumbleweeds dance across rural road?
when crispy leaves gather in harvest pile
over rich soil fully yielded to waning sun
as pumpkins swell with orange-ribbed grace
and squirrel chatters praise for scattered nuts?
do you know what the earth meditates upon in autumn?
The beginning (and ending) question is from Pablo Neruda’s El Libro de las Preguntas.
a poem in my pocket 
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