I have lived thru a lot of winter cold
And a lot of summers heat.
But for downright torrid hotness,
This summer has them beat.
Hotter than Hell
This shack is like a furnace,
With the door and windows open
I keep hoping for some rain
But I guess there is no use in hopin’
The weatherman keeps predicting rain.
In him I take no stock.
If I was lucky enough to have some eggs,
I could fry them on a rock.
The trees are looking wilted,
The grass is dry and brown.
If a fire was ever started,
It would really “go to town.”
Those forest service “jokers”
Would think that was a pretty pass,
For they would have to quit their easy chairs,
And bestir their lazy ass.
They don’t like to leave their easy chairs.
Nor sunburn their blessed necks.
All they want is lots of cold beer
And to draw their salary checks.
But I hope there will be no fires.
If there are, I wish them well.
For it is hot enough without them.
It is hotter than all hell.
KB, 1968, Scribblings from a Hermits Pen
