Indian Summer Song

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Every year in Autumn Indian Summer comes
Blazing trees his war paint, wings of birds his drums

Snowy clouds his headdress, flung against a sky
Blue as turquoise wampum. Golden grass grown high

On the sloping meadows makes his doeskin clothes
Sumac and wild creeper red and redder glows

In his warming campfire, and his pipe smoke strays
Filling folds and valleys with a summer haze

But just when you’ve forgotten that none of this will stay –
Sudden as the nightfall – he has gone away

Taking all his colors. And in the chilly dawn
Frost is on the Autumn hills. Indian Summer’s gone


© Kathryn Jackson & Barbara Klaskin Silberg

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