[Erik Olson]

I prayed the dog-star, Summer’s rage, might wane
Scorched by sun’s beams and blanketed with sweat
I got my wish; I’m drowning deep in rain
The suns’ too frail, my walks too swampy wet
I miss that over ripe and rotting shine
Autumn yields heat to miss and cold to moan
According to lament my season’s known
First flaming sun’s excess, now it's decline.

Erik