Heatwave

A hot wind blows, temperatures soar, From Egypt's desert to the Cyprus shore. From dawns first light 'til evening fall, It holds it's grip on one and all. Try to rest in the dark night, waiting, Hardly possible, heat not negating. Move to the porch and try to ease, Hoping to catch a passing breeze. Broken sleep, gave up at four, Jobs to do became a chore. The zenith hour, too hot to think, Into the pool refreshingly sink. Garden back and front and side, Scorched earth for water cried. The plants we have are rooted deep, Petals gone, memories to keep. When this heatwave has gone by, The cool of the evening will cause a sigh. We rest and gather our strength at last, Another day in Cyprus passed. © Dave Timperley 2012