Below is a slight rewrite of my poem “There is Still Snow:
There is still snow
And ice
In the churchyard nearby.
But below
There are no sighs
As vice
And virtue lie
Under December skies.
You can find the original version here https://kmorrispoet.com/2022/12/17/there-is-still-snow/
It rained last night.
The wet trees brushed
Against my thirsting flesh.
The delight
Of parched park refreshed
By rain.
There is part
Of the park
Mysterious and dark
Where wind sings
Always to me.
And I
Am free.
I heard the wind blow
Through this wood I love.
When I go
Wind will blow.
And rain pour,
Though I am no more.
Yet it comforts me so.
Children make waves
In paddling pools.
The present heatwave
Will not stay.
And sceptic fools
Continue their play
While home burns.
Rain falls hard
In the churchyard.
But those below
Do not know.
On another day
Some other may,
Passing me by,
Think as I.
My friend, Henry took the below photograph in Spa Wood, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spa_Wood on 18 March.
The wood, which is only a few minutes walk from my home, has inspired many of my poems, including this one entitled “Rain”:
“The Rain
Patters amongst these leaves.
I listen again
And ascertain
That it’s the breeze
Midst these trees.
Yet it sounds the same
As rain.”
I was reminded of the above poem as the rain was (actually) falling as Henry and I strolled through Spa Wood.
(“Rain” can be found in my collection “Light and Shade”, https://www.amazon.co.uk/Light-Shade-serious-not-poems-ebook/dp/B08B4X3GVX).
Under nature’s great roof
I feel the truth
In wind and rain.
When I am gone
I shall be one
With wind and rain.
My open windows.
The wind blows.
The sterile,
Becomes virile.
I have long been a lover of the rain. It refreshes hot dirty streets and reinvigorates the seemingly dead vegetation.
The below poem came to me as I lay in bed listening to the rain drumming on my window pane. It can be found in my “Selected Poems”, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/.
K Morris - Poet 