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Paul Laurence Dunbar - In August
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When August days are hot an` dry,
  When burning copper is the sky,
  I `d rather fish than feast or fly
  In airy realms serene and high.

  I `d take a suit not made for looks,
  Some easily digested books,
  Some flies, some lines, some bait, some hooks,
  Then would I seek the bays and brooks.

  I would eschew mine every task,
  In Nature`s smiles my soul should bask,
  And I methinks no more could ask,
  Except--perhaps--one little flask.

  In case of accident, you know,
  Or should the wind come on to blow,
  Or I be chilled or capsized, so,
  A flask would be the only go.

  Then could I spend a happy time,--
  A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme
  (A bit of lemon, or of lime,
  To make my bottle`s contents prime).

  When August days are hot an` dry,
  I won`t sit by an` sigh or die,
  I `ll get my bottle (on the sly)
  And go ahead, and fish, and lie!
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