Surely only I
In this sultry time of year
Can weep and howl and mourn
For days on end

“The morning light falls
In its ghostly rays
Through the morbid haze
Of my daily wanderings
Wants and woes”

This
Is that time of the year
When I strive against age
All to lunge for the patience
Of a life long-lost

When every gust of pollen is a curse
And I wheeze, and I gag
To the aching brink of nausea

Then a flourish of anger
Then solitude
Then silence