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INDIAN SUMMER By Wilford Wheeler Oh. what a thrill to be alive In the Indian summer days When Mother Nature takes her brush And artistic skill displays When every mountainside and hill With brilliant colors gleam And every valley, dale and nook Fills any artist's dream When the fleeting sun sends it golden beams Shimmering on the maze. And fills the soul with awesome glee In a person's wondrous gaze. Tis nature's grand finale As she gathers up her cast. And makes the grandest exit Of the summer that is past. Not only just the colors Of the canyon's brilliant mouth. But to hear the sound of birds' farewell As they fly toward the south Just to hear the sound of a bugling elk Or the sight of a fleeling buck The piercing howl of a lone coyote. Or the quacking of a duck Just to feel the rays of the gentle sun The soft whisper of a breeze. To see the signs of fall in the air Or the aspens shimmering leaves. But ere long we know the lime will come When the leaves will fall and fade It's just as if Mother Nature For herself a bed has made. 160 |
