Is there anything more pitiful than the end of June?
School's ending is long gone,
The fourth of July is invisible
until the calander is flipped,
And the hottest days of the summer
lay ahead in panting waiting;
The warm welcoming embrace of summer's start
Fades into a hazy clingyness
As memories of winter fade
And are no longer the juxtaposition we need.
No, the end of June is a tortuous time
With long days and hot nights
Lingering into eachother with seamless continuity,
When the crickets saw away at their legs
and the frogs gut and groan,
While we all look out windows longingly
Wondering when will July save us?
Will time ever speed back up?
Will June ever, finally, mercifully, end?
