Hello. My name is Sonnet, and I will be reading my poem titled "Summer is Awful."

Shall I complain about a summer’s day?
The air so dry and not so temperate.
Rough rays burn skin in manners most cliché
And I am really getting sick of it.

I’d sleep all day, but summer’s lights don’t fade
They stick around and they delay the night
Don’t I deserve to sleep? I’m old! I’m spayed!
Instead I wake and bear the evening’s fright!

And so here I have come to write these lines
(Though I admit this format’s rather trimmed)
But hey, sonnets, despite their harsh guidelines,
Are from about the place my name was skimmed.

My name’s Sonnet and surely you can see
That while it’s summer, woe is surely me!