These summer days start foggy
And I am always soggy—
When the humidity is sky high
So hot that even the flies hie
Off to more temperate places
Where sweat won’t run off our faces
And the air is cool and dry
More than just a few days, oh my!
It’s August dog days at its best
And we soggy ones endure the test
With ill graces and grumbles,
Until at last the thunder rumbles
And cool rain falls upon us all—
And we look toward the crisp days of Fall.
But as Winter is long and Summer is short,
I think I’ll just wipe my brow and be a sport.