Here we are in mid-July!
It’s time to castigate the fly;
Write a nauseating ballad
Railing at potato salad;
Crab at the grass crop we have grown,
While sipping in the shadows, prone–
Or sing and moan about the heat
There isn’t any way to beat.
We’re all somewhat inclined to shout
At a month we wouldn’t be without,
But I won’t kick and thus annoy it–
The summer’s going–let’s enjoy it.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, January 16, 1952
