Heavy Weather

Like the darling buds of May, the splendid days

Roughly chased by heat, hanging heavy like a sigh

When the blessed dragonflies dodge and drift

And shift upon the last small cloud clear sky.

No warning call, calendar, schedule or almanac;

In its own clear determined choosing

The heavy weighted weather pushes in

Above our bellyaching lament and ill thought refusing.

Weighted like a folded sheet, this lumbering swelter heists

Our fresh, clear and golden ways;

And no as we like, we submit as weather says “Oh yes”

And we sit quiet and count away the days.