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.