Autumn Song

by Mary Wacaster
Indian summer now upon us leans
In Autumn colors cast.
Hearts bend toward winter scenes,
Knowing this will not last.

Feet rustle through browns and reds
Of summer's faded dreams,
That give winter her latent beds
For all her lifeless schemes

When gala tributes are senile, subdued
In manner picturesque yet trite,
And rest still, their splendor hued
With shimmering, placid white.

The downy breezes are dancing near.
The lifeless leaves are sensated,
Trying to wring one last tear
E'er once more placated;

Playing with effort undaunted
To leave her there pensile,
Making her last hour taunted,
Knowing she has become senile;

And scatters all her cherished ones,
With worry to frenzied haste,
To gather all their miserly tons,
And to scrimp with guarded waste.

Soon with heavy blanket lain
And shoved into her latent bed,
Weary courser, all but slain,
Will lifeless lay instead.

And Autumn will succumb again,
From her haughty state,
To crown the victor, proud and vain,
Arising from a tete-a-tete;

Announcing valid winter's icy forum
To all whose ears will hear,
Calmly displaying decorum
To all whose hopes endear.