Like a gaudy gypsy lady
In the colorful attire-
Or a dancing living ember
From a bright and open fire-
Comes the hazy Indian summer
With her crisp and tangy air,
That strips the trees of beauty
And leaves them bleak and bare.
Like an encore to a summer's play,
She makes her final fling,
To leave behind the darken sky
The waiting of the spring.
A reminder that the seasons,
Like a constantly changing sphere,
Add spice and different flavor
As they change throughout the year.
Each one forms a different pattern,
With a landscape ever knew,
As they link themselves together,
In their quarterly debut.