The death of the tolerable weather.
Tedium cloaks the wit like a veil of clouds
And we sit down indoors.
Now is the time for poetry coloured with summer.
Let it fall on the white paper
As ripe flowers fall from a perfect tree.
I will dip down my lips into my cup
Each time I wet my brush.
And keep my thoughts from wandering as smoke wanders,
For time escapes away from you and me