The grass withers anew each morning
The wading pools stand empty and dissipated,
their usefulness forgotten.
There is no end of open space in the streets,
back alleys and creeks.
The corn stands shrunken, parched and spare
The sweltering sun eliminates all traces
of carefully laid out garden places
The birds and butterflies flutter and flit about
desperate for any shade no matter how slight.
There are no child-borne echoes to grace the streets.
All sound abides behind doors latched against
the absence of thunderous rain beats.
Through the sultry curtain of the night,
the fireflies perform their fluorescent arabesques while
illuminating patterns of the utmost fragility and grace
There are no footfalls from young laughing shadows
giving chase to clasp these light-winged dancers
of the summerís eve.
Monastacy is preferred against the community of heat.
There is no rain, no sudden flash and splash
It is summertime and theó
ďLiviní Ainít Easy! ! !Ē
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