Futile Forecast

The mercury crowded a hundred;
we were but halfway through June.
We waited with hope as it thundered,
in the distance that hot afternoon.

The corn sprouts had promising widened;
and the rows green and fast flourishing,
farmers and gardeners seeing progress,
began to see the fulfillment of spring.

Could the rise of the heat linger on,
while moisture evaded our relief
and lawns become brittle and brown;
the sky bring assistance or grief?

So thunder unfulfilled passed over,
and the heat, unabated, held on,
not washing the grain stalks or clover;
we may still hold hope, a new dawn.

The evening still warm and humid,
wind direction brought changed atmosphere;
fluffy summer clouds turned threatening,
anticipation soon turned to fear.

Hoping moisture was there in the sound,
hands were wrung over threat in the sky;
again, a storm passed--empty-- around,
and rain clouds, unavailing, passed by.

Let's hope this fickle kind of weather,
won't stay with us all through July.