by Loren N. Horton
The heat of the scorching west wind
Turns the green fields to gold
As it turns the arid soil to dust
Flowers wilt before its force
While trees droop in melancholy
And all life forms huddle to escape
The summer sun shines with intensity
Its brightness exaggerated day by day
In the cloudless enormity of the sky
Only the promise of fall brings relief
To the eagerly awaiting earth, now still,
In earnest yearning for cooler times
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