Winter, Please God, Winter
The heat, best friend to sleep, is on my head,
and down and down my eyelids fall like lead,
and who shall say
that bright-crowned day
is not a better time than night to be abed?
Let the breezes try to cool me. They shall fail
to 'bate the Texas heat; for damned souls wail
when Texas air
by chasing out the cooler winds of hell.
Facetious souls may think me like them here.
I will not know until my thinking clears
from heatful winds
that, hateful, send
these curses, flames that boil, broil, roast, and sear.