The thrilling high hopes of summer
Are confined and smothered
In the balm of August

Rain always looms and sways
Like refreshing promises
Unkept, and hoarded by the silvery heavens

And not a seaborne gust
Can free us from the oven’s heave
Broiling our affections
For the broad days of summer

So August burns
With a Southerner’s passion
Lumbering out west
In his long gray cloak