As I lay melting...

A local coffee shop gives poets the stage every Thursday night, and I was lucky enough to stumble into some vivid, enchanting and often hilarious readings last week. Some classic, some original, some in rhyme, others beating out their own strange rhythm. It reawakened me to the power of poetry to capture the essence of a moment. In honor of Waco hitting the 102-degree mark today, I give you a few lines on summer from Robert Louis Stevenson.

Summer Sun

By Robert Louis Stevenson

Great is the sun, and wide he goes

Through empty heaven with repose; 

And in the blue and glowing days

More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull

To keep the shady parlour cool,

Yet he will find a chink or two

To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad

He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;

And through the broken edge of tiles

Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around

He bares to all the garden ground

And sheds a warm and glittering look

Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,

Round the bright air with footing true,

To please the child, to paint the rose,

The gardener of the World, he goes.