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.