The smell of new frost thrills my nose

As petals fall from summer’s rose.

A glimpse of life, another season,

Flee with little rhyme or reason

Like some startled drummer.

We call this autumn, season bright,

Of thousand colors, dancing light.

But sounds of rustling leaves at night

Too soon must die beneath the white

Of winter’s snow.

A wisp of smoke, a distant fire

Rekindle flames of lost desire;

A yearning that I thought had died

Awakens once again inside,

But did you know...

An Indian love call rapidly flees

Away with the wind and whispering leaves

Of Indian Summer?