St. Swithin's Day is now long gone
There are crickets dancing on the lawn
The weeds, all scorched in recent heat,
Now sprout anew round park bench seat.
The thunderstorms should clear the air
But this oppressive atmosphere
Remains; we all feel quite washed out
It's an effort just to walk about.
Dry heat is fine but here it seems
We're in for outdoor sauna scenes.
The dampness saps our energy
Lead me to a shady tree!
The Brussels trams all stink of sweat
In no time we are wringing wet
This kind of summer is absurd
To define it, lethargy's the word!
(c) Poet in the woods 2014