Ada Picou Rides the Heat
The sun rode high—
white-hot and mean—
beating down like judgment
on the wide green valley.
No clouds in sight.
Just that big, clean stretch of blue
like a fresh-cut sky,
too proud for mercy.
The heat out here wasn’t…
The sun rode high—
white-hot and mean—
beating down like judgment
on the wide green valley.
No clouds in sight.
Just that big, clean stretch of blue
like a fresh-cut sky,
too proud for mercy.
The heat out here wasn’t…