That sticky prickly sickly sun
it is the source of life i know
But everywhere I go it sits
in ambush like some fiery foe.

This sun it makes me hold my breath
and dazzled by the shimmering light
I cannot wait then to exhale
in limpid gardens of the night

And so like sunburnt labourer
returning from the fields, I crawl
Away from scorching brick and stone
to chilly church or marble hall

Or else I seek the velvet plush
of mossy woodlands strewn with dew
Where frogs take baths in icy pools
and violets blossom far from view

But when the winds begin to rise
I soon forget the fires of hell
With thunder rumbling low, I walk
as if beneath a magic spell

And like those dancing figures
that you find within a Grecian frieze
My skirt begins to float as if
upon some preternatural breeze

The park, a halcyon cloister now
so far from brutish summer heat
I stroll past pomegranate trees
and watch a blue winged parakeet

Then clear as water from a font
bright drops of rain begin to fall
And bless the parched and yellow leaves
the pomegranates, birds and all

I breathe a sigh of sweet relief
the struggle now is at an end
The winds caress me smooth as silk-
the sunlight has become my friend