And I'm too close to it, here in Cheyenne,
Though I'd be closer back at home. It's dry,
But lo, it burns like napalm when it can.
When waves of it are visible, and when
The wind forgets to blow, when e'en the birds
Tweet less, I think of all the times I've been
Prostrated by the summer time. No words
Can e'er convey my sunburn's pain; no balm
Can comfort it, save vinegar, which stings
As much as it stinks also. But I'm calm.
I'm almost home, where, among other things
A ceiling fan and lemonade await
If I can make it. If not, good-bye, Kate.
Posts
Dear Kate: sorry you got so (poetically) put upon by the sun. Down here in south Florida, we are used to the heat but are trying to harness solar. Just last week our son was on a 7-day kayaking team trip down thru the Keys and they were all wearing solar caps and vests--yes, the sun's rays were cooling them!!
ReplyDeleteMaybe next you could do a solar-powered sonnet?? :>))
Paul F
HA! This is pretty much exactly how I feel about those mid-summer days. Ugh. ;)
ReplyDelete