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.