August
The summer sun scorches flower and grass,
dust has filled up every cranny and crack.
The humidity has climbed near the top,
it’s hotter’n two cats in a gunny sack.
The dog’s under the porch with tongue hanging,
ain’t rained in I don’t know how many days.
Sprinklers are spraying but to no avail,
I’m afraid the lawn has faded away.
But here in the shade of this old maple,
this ragged hammock fits my butt just fine.
Though there’s a thousand chores need to be done,
I think they'll wait for a much cooler time.
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