another song of summer
Add title A SUMMER AFTERNOON Heavy as hot wet flannel, every breath... I hate to sit or move against this August afternoon. Sticky-damp, clothes cling, a drag against ambition. Birds, lethargic, dull, sing only if they must, fly ghostlike if at all through dusty drooping trees. Cicadas ratchet on and on-- maddeningly constant; mosquitoes whine or strike unheard, the devils! Roses overblown and bright, relishing this tropic season, exude aromas heavy and too sweet. I languish, scowling,... Sign in to see full entry.