The summertime where I was born, well I,
I think it mattered not. The sun shone all
Year round; although it rained in the afternoon,
E’en a fly soon could call a stormy cloud.
Every day was a day off from school;
You could count on a sunny morning and a
Cloudy afternoon; some might have called for
Protests, May Days, but hey, still’s all the same.
The sun shines gloriously on the equator;
Such constant forgiveness nature intended
Showing no turmoil, no transient temperament,
Spoils rather than tempers, equatorial drama!
Hardy weeds survive outdoors, orchids can
be purchased at the mall; as it should be,
gas is dirt cheap, dirt dirty, jungle bled,
Homegrown pride. The view of the hills’s…damn.
But there’s no point, yet the clouds clouddy up
The sky. Tantrums of constancy: here’s to
Hoping you’ll humbly retire at night; day’s
light on the moonshine mutes so lovely.
