In The Heat Of Summer
M
Mark Heathcote
0
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Soft-willowy shadows soothe my temples
their dancing arrows is a great relief
when summer days their rustling expressions-
like ladies-nattering brim-full with grief.
Such heat makes them squawk like a parakeet
the heavens descend and, trees start flapping
odd, how green turns to gold in heads of wheat.
'I hear thunder—in the distance clapping…
But all that endless barking goes nowhere.'
Yes, it's dressed with fanfare, blooms dancing
but see how they wilt, dine on stoneware;
passions as this scorch the heart subtracting
when all about me turns cold and brackish
'then, dear, all my own, summers will vanish.'
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