Poem: It’s Much Too Hot

It’s much too hot, the sky won’t move,
the sun has lost its chill.
The pavement sweats, the trees disprove
the promise of a thrill.

The fan just hums a tired tune,
the air sits thick and still,
and even shade at half-past noon
won’t bend to comfort’s will.

Ice melts before it hits the glass,
shirts cling like second skin,
and dogs lie low in yellow grass,
too wise to chase or grin.

The world feels slow, like heat has paused
the ticking of the day—
and we, undone, by warmth that gnaws,
just wish it all away.

But summer, bold and unrefined,
won’t heed our weary plot—
it blazes on, as if designed
to always be too hot.

Thank-you for reading.

Many blessings to all.

Much love and light,

Brenda Marie