Indian Summer
Tis the season of autumn
That is called "Indian Summer"
Which comes four to six weeks
Before the month of December.
The fields are bright yellow
With a carpet of goldenrods
While the marshes have an abundance
Of tall brown cat-tail pods.
The sugar maples' leaves
Are blanketing the hills
With yellow, orange, and brown
While plants and weeds, the temperature kills.
The thermometer gradually drops
Each early morning and night
While Jack-Frost brushes the roofs and timbers
With a glaze of sparkling white.
The glass window panes
Jack Frost covers with artistic lines--
Broad, slender, curves, arches
And other various shapes of all kinds.
The sturdy, huge oak trees
Have dropped their acorns;
And the nights' full moon
The clear sky adorns.
The sassafras and sumac
In the overgrown fence rows
Are a burnt color of red
Admist where the saw-briar grows.
While taking a stroll through
The fields and woods,
Stick-tights adhere to
Our clothes and other goods.
The sky is a bright blue
With here and there a fluffy cloud;
And the breeze is gentle
With a rustle that's low--not loud.
From the rigid walnut trees
We've harvested the nuts;
And old Tom Turkey is growing;
And in the barn yard, he struts.
In the blue-yonder a honking sound
Of wild geese can be heard
As they fly in a v-formation
With a vigorous lead-bird
The crops are all harvested;
And the tobacco is in the barn.
'Tis time to begin planning
Another year for the farm.
We call the season Indian Summer;
For it's a fun and colorful time of year.
It's a wonderful time to view
Nature with all it's wonder so near.
Author Edith Bastin
© Copyright: November 03, 1998. All Rights Reserved.
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