INDIAN SUMMER (A RONDEAU)
By: Frederick Laird
By: Frederick Laird
Old winter reaches out with stealthy hand
To sweep away the golden autumn days.
And while we seek brief respite in delays
A transient Indian summer makes its stand.
The warm, clear days that visited our land
Have graced the trees and set them all ablaze.
But nature acts as if in reprimand
To sweep away the golden autumn days.
It’s not within our power to command
The whims of weather that our mind surveys.
We glory in the scenes now on display
And wish the Fall would linger and expand
But winter reaches out with stealthy hand.
To sweep away the golden autumn days.
And while we seek brief respite in delays
A transient Indian summer makes its stand.
The warm, clear days that visited our land
Have graced the trees and set them all ablaze.
But nature acts as if in reprimand
To sweep away the golden autumn days.
It’s not within our power to command
The whims of weather that our mind surveys.
We glory in the scenes now on display
And wish the Fall would linger and expand
But winter reaches out with stealthy hand.
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