Trees rustle with an autumn dryness
Sinking their roots deeper into parched earth
The birds that will sing good morning are asleep still
Savoring the infrequent gusts of wind
The first hints of morning are almost unwelcome
It promises to be a hot, uncomfortable day
A farmer rises early, unable to sleep
Hitches up his overalls and steps outside
Scanning the horizons for any sign of rain
His hopes of a storm, for a cooling mist
Sink low with each blink of his eyes.
It is summer, hot, uncaring summer.