Indian Summer

by

Phil Pochurek

It's a crisp autumn sunrise
As a sweet September fog settles gently
On your sweater,
And hangs in the curls of your hair.
Then in an angels breath
The dew on the roses
Melts over each petal,
Like a kiss.
Waiting for the morning sun
To bring it full circle,
Releasing its embrace to the season.
Back into the air
With the scent of roses,
The scent of everything it touches,
That is fall.
While the sun turns the leaves and pumpkins orange
And the last of the tomatos red.
By the afternoon
The fog is gone
And it's way too hot to have anything on,
Except a smile.
It's the summer hanging on
That makes you sweat,
Reminding you it's not over yet.
When there's Indian corn
Dancing in the sunset
Of an Indian summer.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Red is the blood we bleed
by: Francis Duggan
from: Wonthaggi, Victoria, Australia

To visit all of Phil Pochurek's poems, click HERE

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