When

The friend of the young

Is now an enemy I so eagerly run from.

I hold my chest

While it takes my breath.

The air is still

No longer a thrill.

I can only take a moment

Before I feel its burden.

Nothing is enjoyable

In fact it's miserable.

I beg for a shift in the wind

I'll know while the windmill spins.

Oh how I long for an Autumn's eve

To bring relief from the Summer's heat.