In The Dog Days

A sunflower on its short crook neck
Coats bees with clinging golden dust;
A pigeon nods across to peck
At lichen burnt to scales of rust;
In distance crizzled up by heat
The sand’s bone-dry the children spade;
Tar jellies under passing feet;
Black dogs pant pink-tongued in the shade.

Gulls drift in desultory rings
Above the barely ruffled trees;
Though gardens whirr with unseen wings
Birds’ whistles now have lost their peas;
The lawns are patched with biscuit-brown,
Day-lily petals curl and fade
And, waiting till the sun climbs down,
Black dogs pant pink-tongued in the shade.

Jerome Betts

If you have any comments on this poem, Jerome Betts would be pleased to hear from you.