Indian Summer

 

Along the line of smoky hills

The crimson forest stands,

And all the day the blue-jay calls

Throughout the autumn lands.

A Walk Through Indian Summer

Elizabeth Crabtree

(2014)

Now by the brook the maple leans

With all his glory spread,

And all the sumachs on the hills

Have turned their green to red.

Now by the great marshes wrapt in mist,

Or past some river's mouth,

Through the long, still autumn day

Wild birds are flying south.

Indian Summer
William Wilfred Campbell
Canadian poet