A Desert's Midsummernight's Dream

Even if, you've not read it,
you may still have heard,
how Shakespear wrote enough to make us all scream;
for, he captured pandemonium,
and the chaos, absured,
when he wrote, the Midsummer Night's Dream.

In the beginning of August,
you can search everyone's face,
and tell, it takes too much focus, to yawn;
for it's too muggy, and hot,
to convince folks, that the desert's the place,
to relax, because the Summer's half gone.

Some'll need a straight-jacket,
some, a doctor or nurse,
while others speak in tongues, letting off steam;
the Desert's heat's so damn cruel,
making even gravity, seem worse,
evaporating, everyone's Midsummer Night's Dream.

And, as we wait out the long day,
we all wait, for the heat of the night,
and convince ourselves, things aren't that bad;
we may welcome night's reprieve,
but, nothing else seems quite right,
for it seems, this is the worst Midsummer's night we've all had.

The desert has it's own evil way,
of dealing out such disdain,
torturing each of us, ever so slow;
but, one thing is so true,
we'd all probably complain,
if, instead of hot sand, we'd have snow.

So, while we desert folks bear it,
and we all try and endure,
remember, things could be worse, it would seem;
for, Midsummer's the time,
when the worst will always occur,
and ours could be a Nightmare, not a Dream!