Can’t wait for the cool and damp air,
The soft breeze and the bluest sky.
For the shapes of clouds,
The framework of red and gold.
These are what the animals think,
As they spend their days of summer.
We go to beaches; the pools,
While they have nowhere to go.
The boiling sun will scorch their backs,
The stream will be too shallow to wade in.
Even below trees it’s still too warm,
For Summer is too greedy and proud.
Hearing their cries,
Autumn will come and take over the throne.
While Summer, boiling mad,
Will hide until his turn.