When the summer days are waning and the air has just a hint
Of the coming chill of autumn, and you faintly catch the
scent
Of a pile of leaves
aburning, and you know what’s just ahead
Then your hungry soul starts thinking of fall turnips and
corn bread.
There’s a pork roast in the crockpot, with potatoes on the
side
And sliced apples swathed in butter, in a skillet they’ve
been fried
With some sugar and some cinnamon, to the table you are led
Cause you know that supper’s waiting with fall turnips and
corn bread.
Somehow I’m sure that round God’s table angels will be
waiting there
With a smile of eager welcome as they point you to a chair
And they hand you a holy menu, full of items that you’ll be
fed
And you’ll find that heaven’s manna is fall turnips and corn
bread.
Written by Joan Rowden Hart, September 18, 2012
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