Dog Days of Summer
The porch swing hangs heavy.
The potted plants sigh;
But none is so hot nor
So weary as I.
The music of crickets,
The buzz of the fly
Is droning unanswered
Tired and dry.
The sun on the garden
Has dried every leaf;
The vines have all withered
Gone summer’s feast.
The Queen Ann has faded.
Is no longer white.
All life waits in stillness
For coolness of night.
We watch for the promise 
Of color on trees
Of pears and of pumpkins
To come with the ease,
Of cooler and wetter
Oh, welcome relief
From the dog days of summer
The satin cerise
Of summer’s late sunsets, 
Those guarantee all
The geese winging southward:
God sending us fall.

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