cowardly, the rain has beccome.
smothered we were during summer, early,
but dry and cracked, we are now,
despite being, for the year,
still over normal, by ten inches.
lost its force of nerve,
my senses tell me that,
on this day, summer has.
ice to come, before a month.
on its way is all life's wilt and
long dark grasp of sleep in cold.
heed we must to keep a flame
lest be of ice our only remains
