There's a time each year,
That we suffer so dear,
In the scorching old summer time.
Like birds, we search for shade divine,
And arid land is made,
In the hot old summer time.


When you burn all over,
There is no clover,
And sweat feels a lot like brine.
The heat is annoying,
Out-of-doors you're not enjoying,
In the hot old summer time.


You swim in the lake,
For coolness sake,
In the hot old summer time.
You stay inside,
The electric company takes you for a ride,
In the hot old summer time.


Those days full of pleasure,
We used to treasure,
Will come when fall arrives.
Right now we roast,
And long to travel to the coast,
In the hot old summer time.


In the hot old summertime,
In the hot old summertime,
Searching for a shady lane,
While sweating a sea of brine.
You try to keep from his touch,
And that's surely a sign,
It's too hot for a whoopie good time,
In the scorching old summertime.

~ Sharon ([email protected]) ~
� July 2004

 

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Check these out:
Bard Of Willow Creek
Wistful Thoughts
Memories Of Home
Summer Sings To Me
Baker's Woods
A Rainy Morning




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