The rain had come and gone.

Yet still raindrops fell

From branches  laden down with rain.

 

 

Then, the mower came

To cut grass as I passed

Along the churchyard path

Where the old  trees grow

And the dead sleep below.

 

Neither these trees nor the dead

Will know that I passed

Along this well worn churchyard path

As the mower cut grass

Heedless of rain.