Indian Summer

Indian Summer The skies are turning washed-out winter blue; The wind blows hints of frosty future chill; Leaves now swirl, or sport a varied hue, And scents of fall awakened nostrils fill. Lawns yet are clothed in optimistic green, And southern sun still bakes the southward slopes; 'Round flowers fluttering, butterflies are seen, And soaring skyward still are human hopes. October etches out its final lines, November hovers, hidd'n within the wings; Life and color, all that's summer, shines, One last warm moment, all of nature sings. Soon clouds will gather, gloom blot out the sun, And Old Man Winter blow his frozen breath; Life and verdance will their course have run, And failing, will be swallowed up in death. Thrill, my heart, in evanscent glory; Grieve, my soul, its beauty fading fast. Ponder, then, Earth's swift advancing story-- Every perfect moment quickly past.