DOLDRUMS SONNET

Direct me. For the river meanders
And channels are clogging veins filled with silt.
Rather than lead, each leader now panders
To lower powers, half greed and half guilt.
Gone are the floods of spring; gone is gushing
Joy to be alive; the strong have gone limp.
Eyes have turned dim. Rather than blushing
Faces have grown gray, the hue of a wimp.
Each July it seems the heat gets to me
And spurs won’t work. I turn into a mule
That won’t even plod. I’ll never shake free
If I cover no ground. That’s just the rule.
So I look up through the hot, humid sky
And seek in the heat for a reason to try.