My Indian Summer Day
You must have been a gift, a reward, for
surely some things are earned, or just deserved?
The martins are breeding one last time, the
bees and butterflies proliferate and
though full to bursting, even the river
relaxes, glinting so sweetly in the
sunshine, its tune so melodious, that
now even the aspens are applauding.
More an answered prayer than a dream or wild
imagining, you are the summer season’s final fling
before the knife of winter slowly slides its way in.
So it's a wish-you-were-here kind of day,
a red-shoes-on-get-up-and-go kind of day,
when to be alive or just bathe in the sun is all I
could ever hope for or would ever, ever need.