Fugue for the Harvest Moon Shining Over Montague

And here we are, friend, in dear old Montague.
The harvest moon—look!—shining brightly in the east,
as it has these thousand years (and more!) on cue.
The peaches, apples, plums, the blessed feast
of eggplant, the maze of golden wheat, to name a few.
And those ten thousand mums afire now, to say the least. 
Ah! How you shine, dear moon, as once again you
rise above our copper beech and redwood, like a priest
lifting the blessed host before his flock. Merci beaucoup,
dear moon, for your gifts that year by blessèd year increase.