A North Indian Summer

They ask of me to write a sonnet fine

In praise of Summer and her pretty dress,

But I hail from a place of diff’rent clime

Where Summer’s heat knows best how to oppress.

She raises up the dust from Rajasthan

And like a warrior princess she rides hard,

Across the northern plains of Hindustan

Her wild-haired, wild-eyed, visage scares this bard.

The fevered breezes that she raises fly

Before her, searing grain and grass and trees.

Her scimitar’s a blazing sun raised high

And Life must bow to her desire or cease.

But when Queen Summer’s raging reign has run

Fresh Monsoon comes to heal the hurt she’s done.