The moon shows it’s time. To crop to refine. What’s ripe for the taking. Field, tree, bush or vine.

I paint the sky in muted hue, with hints of gold and fading blue. Before the stars begin their flight, I linger softly out of sight.

Fields of white, as far as the eye can see. Check the tag on your tee, you're probably wearing me!

I wear a crown but rule no land, I blush in red or dress in green, Doctors praise me with a plan, Yet I’m often bitten, rarely seen. What am I?

Where the water meets the land Toes in the sand Summer dreams are at hand.