The terrible heat of late July,
Is something to behold.
It burns and dries the countryside,
Does damages untold.
The air is loaded with the heat,
The hot, hot sun pours down.
Runs temperatures to ninety plus,
Makes everybody frown.
Makes thunder rumble far away,
And lightning from the heat.
Yet ripens all the new green corn,
Also the golden wheat.
And then in pity, God on high,
Sends us a cooling breeze.
That whips in just behind a storm,
And whispers through the trees.
E.H. Coe 1971