Terrestrial Rotation

Apollo's daily furnace does its worst
and wildfires turn the sunsets red.
It seems like all of the Earth has been cursed
and out of doors is just no place to tread.
 
Even the night offers little reprieve
from nature's sentence of oppressive heat.
I now believe what live lobsters perceive,
or any other kind of boiled meat.
 
Luckily, poets work around the clock
to produce something cool for the ages,
and, I find, with this planet I can block
all sorts of distracting solar rages.
 
     Yes, when daytime air reeks of sylvan death
     bright sonneteers breathe in a midnight breath!