In The Heat Of Summer Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Soft, willowy shadows soothe my temples.
Their dancing arrows are a great relief.
When summer days, their rustling expressions
Like ladies nattering, brim-full of grief.
Such heat makes them squawk like a parakeet.
The heavens descend, and trees start flapping
Odd how green turns to gold in heads of wheat.
'I hear thunder in the distance, clapping…
But all that endless barking goes nowhere.'
Yes, it's dressed with fanfare, blooms dancing
But see how they wilt, dine on stoneware;
Passions as this scorch the heart, subtracting
When all about me turns cold and brackish
'Then, dear, all my own, summers will vanish.'