The smells of fresh mown hay, corn roasting,
Ginger in warm apple cider mixing,
Colors in leaves on the nearby trees
Proclaim Indian summer is upon our land again.
The smoke from the burning of fallen leaves,
Follows wherever I go.
The pumpkins, wheat straw and the setting sun
Have all been brushed with a golden tint.
When a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis
Catches my eye as I sit listening
While a wind song plays on the chimes above.
The magic of the moment is such
That across the field I seem to see in sight
A bronze chested warrior striding through.
I will miss this Indian summer when it’s gone.
#NativeAmericanDay #AutumnPoem
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