As I sat composing poetry
On a windswept afternoon
In the garden.
I heard all the windchimes
Sounding out of tune.
And then came the rain
To mock me
And my poetry.
As I sat composing poetry
On a windswept afternoon
In the garden.
I heard all the windchimes
Sounding out of tune.
And then came the rain
To mock me
And my poetry.
Thunder echoes but Thor
Is no more.
People look skywards as before
But only to remark
That the sky is dark.
The rain will clean
For a while, but the obscene
Heat
That festers in the calculating brain
Will remain.
The sane
Will go with the rain
That cools
While fools
Complain
That nature rules.