Summertime, and the writin’ ain’t easy. Fish tank needs cleaning, and the weeds are real high.

So little time to do all that needs doing, with houseguests and grandkids standing by.

One of these mornin’s, I’m gonna rise up way early, just to sit still, thinking ’bout what I can write. But until that mornin’, sunshine outside sure beckons and so do the cookouts that last late into night.

Summertime, and the laundry increases. Sheets and towels mound near up to the sky. It’s the season that the house is a-hopping since vacation-time ends in a mere blink of the eye.

Should be writing but the dog hair needs sweeping. Seems Labs shed faster than the sweet peas grow. Maybe a swim in the cove down at back shore will help them cool off or in their pen they will go.

Columns don’t happen lest you take time from boating. Or from combing the shore for colored glass or pretty shells. Typing words can’t compare to island trekking, or exploring low tide with all its salt-sea smells.

Summertime, and the berries need picking. Pickles go in jars and cut flowers in a vase. Hedges need trimming, and the grass demands mowing. The hammock out back invites rest, just in case.

The rose bush needs dusting, and the hosta, some slug bait. Pesky clover pokes up between the crushed stone. The old birdbath should be filled with fresh water, and no doubt about it, a car wash can’t wait.

Summertime, and low windows are smudged. Tiny fingers have drawn art from panes to door. Must get writing but the glass sure needs cleaning; floors could be mopped and deck hosed even more.

There’s nothing for supper and a crowd is expected. Should write column but will marinade meat. Outside grilling is the best way to feed them since the kitchen’s off-limits due to July heat.

Summertime, and ice cream stands are calling. So, too, hot dogs, fried clams and all the rest. I’d better get to writing then to strolling and munching. As the Gershwin song says, Porky’s Not Best.