July

by Mary Brunini McArdle

In the deep sunken evenings of July,
When the summer’s at its zenith
And each twilight lasts forever,
Cerulean blue ignites
The burning sky:

There the noisome insects play
Until full daylight halts their song.
Trees drip with moisture
In the morning fog;
At dusk steam rises from
Their roots...

We fretfully endure
The blistering heat and blazing sun,
And humid nights with little rest,
The August dog days
Still ahead.