I Miss The Summer
You know I almost miss the Summer,
With its high heat like griddle�s bottom.
A blazing sun and thirsting wind,
I think no other season�s got �em.
How �bout the way the grass turns brown,
From lack of rain and driest drought?
My horses seek the shade of barn,
When I�m mean enough to turn �em out.
Or take the weeds that spring alive,
Like Toadflax, Spurge, and stands of thistle?
They try to overrun the fields,
And turn my Smooth Brome into gristle.
Just when I think it�s cool enough,
To walk a bit or ride a trail.
The clouds pile high and thick with dark,
And send their loads of frozen hail.
Black flies and mosquitoes bite,
The skin of man and beast alike.
With West Nile and who knows what else,
Outdoors, I�m fearful as a tyke.
Oh yes, I almost miss the Summer,
Those months that come before the Fall.
Now that it�s gone I think I�ll say,
I miss the Summer... not at all.
�2005, Lincoln Rogers
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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