Ode to an Indian Summer
By Robert X. Quinn
The trees are bare and the leaves
have gone from green to red to brown.
The blustering winds of Autumn
have them dancing on the ground
The Equinox has come and gone.
The sun is heading south.
But the air is warm today,
Indian Summer has come about.
There's a gentle breeze blowing.
Of summer time I reminisce.
Of throwing boomerangs for hours,
That's what I really miss.
I run outside at lunch time,
To get in a couple of throws.
And after work, what I'm doing
I get to leave work early,
all I do is drive around.
I'm looking for an empty field.
There's none, that can be found.
There's football players and soccer players
where I want to be.
I have to find a field real fast
before I go crazy.
I finally found a vacant lot.
The weeds, flattened by the frost.
It's the only field that's empty,
I give my 'rangs a toss.
I've gotten in the groove now.
My sticks are flying fine.
But the sun is setting quickly,
I'm running out of time.
These Autumn days are way too short,
I really should have known,
To bring some light sticks with me,
Oh what night 'rangs I could have thrown.
Oh Indian Summer you tease me
with your warm summer air.
Darkness comes too quickly,
It doesn't seem too fair.
For winter time is coming,
when the days have little sun.
The wind is hard. The air is cold.
For throwing 'rangs, it's not much fun.
New England winters are bitter.
The boomerangs stay inside.
It's time to design some new ones
and wait for spring to arrive..
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Changes last made on: October 28, 2005