up north the green invites

greens of all kinds from yellow to dark
at height of summer inviting cool
they tell a simple lie none can escape
the heated damp with not a breath of wind

atlanta summer is a kind of hell
from which we long for the escape of autumn
the regular storms seem governed by the clock
and what the thunder says is watch your electrics

or da datta you'll see them fried to death
but still the green invites and tells its lie