Indian Summer Poem by Martin Moore

Indian summer rain taps incessantly
its rhythmic repetoire upon the roof
beneath its rusted eaves in runnels free
astonied insects floating by, aloof

Noah-like on leafy russet barges
buffeted by this sudden perfect spate
under a weeping birch this navy charges
desultory flotilla, curious shipmates

Temporary tempest, swollen stream
taken unawares the willow herb
on its dancing, whirling fireweed dream
its subaquatic stems, a rosebay kerb

An osiery of willow roots is born
Mantled cage of bristling briarwood
cloaked its forehead in a crown of thorns
underneath this barbed and burry hood

Here I will pass the Autumn of my life
write my poets lines, my thought-dreams down
a satiated muse, perspective bright
pensive moments passed, serene surrounds

Commit to words the fleeting gift of life
that others might appreciate and know
the nature of a man, despite his strife
Harbinger, keeper of the sacred scroll.