short was the spring

already summer shows its sluggish shape
not soft the sun but heavy lies the air
at midafternoon haze weighs like a bear
senses stunned to cool caverns we escape
wits seem to wilt our nerves begin to scrape
so many things we wish but do not dare
feverish fitful we seem so full of fear
jammed into place we do not jest or jape
the milky light turns into blinding glow
warmth soon turns torrid and we wail
at how the pace of summer has increased
almost we long for the soft touch of snow
like leaves in drought our spirits quail
the demon of the sunlight is released