Saturday, August 02, 2008
Cruel heat, torrid rains besot
my gardens promise, gone to rot
Foul air bears all things great ill
Nor man, nor beast thrives in the hot.
Dog days growling, snarling, bite
No breeze to float aloft a kite.
Pretenders to the throne, as well
Heat-numb, can't but scratch and fight.
Spring teased of sprouts and plans so fair,
bore mists and blooms and scented air.
Summer's ripened, humid, heavy
like a heart worn down with care.
Dog days, I will bear and stand you, wait you out.
Lay low, shallow, till Autumn's rout
leaves Sirius a bowing, conquered cur.
Then trees and I, glad colors flout.
By Gail Aggen, copyright 2008