The temperature's past the hundred mark,
there's not a hint of breeze.
The youngsters run and play and sweat,
the oldsters sit and wheeze.
-
The sun don't set 'til ten PM
and its up again at five,
without these hours of darkness
no one would survive.
-
It doesn't cool off all night,
the evening breeze is not.
Don't want to move, it's hard to breathe,
it's muggy, still and hot.
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August is only thirty-one days,
the longest month of the year.
Then, at long last comes September,
and it's all downhill from here.
-
We've survived another August,
August always seems eternal.
September brings us sweet relief
from dog-days most infernal.
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