"Indian Summer"

Warm September days turn slow October,
leaves sport fall fashions.
Pennsylvania summers too short,
the earth wraps winter round like a blanket,
an old man too tired to rise,
a child, face frosting quilts,
dreading the nip of cold
hardwood flooring on feet
aching to slip back in bed.
Then Indian summer
old farmers smile,
the sky keeps soft a little longer.

One morning the sun on my face is brittle
and washing for breakfast like ducking
for autumn apples. Don't misunderstand me,
there's power in fall, bright strength
that looks past fault, hard edges,
a set jaw, no black suit, but
walnut brown fresh-turned earth dying
for seed, with maybe a splash
of honey, of crimson.

Stifler, Bill. "Indian Summer." TYCA-Southeast Journal 48.2 (Fall 2015): 34.