I feel the throb growing
as it feeds on the light.
Each day beating on farther,
consuming my night.
The flowers will bud
beneath the sky's burning breath,
and their beautiful blooms
will fall dry into death.
For the few that survive,
although parched by Hells kiss.
Their hues joyfully mature
into Autumn's bliss.

So for now,
I'll endure the change
I'll wait out the Hellish heat
I'll pray for a little rain
I'll await Summer's defeat.