This summer we've had a very long series of days in excess of a hundred degrees Fahrenheit (above 37.7 degrees Celsius, for those on the Celsius system). It is astounding how torpid and lethargic it makes everything; even staying inside doesn't change things much, particularly since nothing is really built for weather anymore, so you either blast yourself with air conditioning or fall asleep from warm humidity. I walk to clear my head, but even I can't walk extensively in 105 degree weather, so I've spent most of the summer feeling a weird mix of nervously squirrel-like and listless. My optimistic list of things to get done this summer is in a state of mostly not-done. So I'm very much feeling this poem at the moment.
A Ballade of Sun-Beating
The sun is hot today, and fierce!
It will not give surcease or rest.
It waterfalls with flames that pierce,
no matter hope I may invest,
unyielding till it reaches West.
If nothing's done, then I must die.
So here is my quixotic quest:
to beat the sun from flaming sky!
I need a steed that never veers
(a dragon likely would be best)
and one that knows no qualms nor fears,
with spirit growing in its chest.
Then we will fly without a rest
until we reach the world on high,
to do what must be done with zest:
to beat the sun from flaming sky!
With gilded sets of pocket-shears
I will undo its shining vest,
and chase it through its wide careers
with baseball bat and hammer blessed
with holy water, as you've guessed,
to make that demon weep and cry.
No pity stops me, nor behest,
to beat the sun from flaming sky!
Envoi
Dread prince, I have but one request:
if in this task I fail and die,
let other men take up the quest --
to beat the sun from flaming sky!
