The long, hot summer is fading away...
the wings of the morning are lavender-gray.
Blossoms of rose are no longer seen...
the maple and oak are no longer green.
The wind in the willows blows harder these days,
and acres of sheaves present quite a maze.
The scarecrow seems sad, all alone in the field,
but the harvest was blessed and gave a good yield.
The loons on the lake have all gone away
for these golden moments never can stay.
Everything changes, but nothing is new...
the prelude to autumn was long overdue.
Indian summer put on quite a show
then folded its tent in a blanket of snow.
The migrating birds have a will to obey...
the long, hot summer is fading away.
~ Clay Harrison
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