Through the wet window
by cricketjeff on November 29, 2009. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
And a blackbird in the weeds, and it’s a dismal winter day.
There are crows discussing Christmas on the hollow rowan tree
While the dirty English weather throws her drizzled face at me.
As the last few fruits of Autumn cling forgotten where they grew
My eyes are slowly searching for a single space of blue,
For a hint that, though it’s dreary, better times are still ahead
But the days that end November make me wish I’d stayed in bed.
Now the robin isn’t happy with the crumbs we’ve left outside,
At the back door, singing crossly, while the breakfast bacon’s fried.
Soon the guinea pigs are squeaking, it is time they had their greens,
And a blue tit waits at table while his friend sits still and preens.
In the garden, in November, in between the heavy showers,
There are birds of many species, and a few hard wearing flowers,
But the overwhelming image through these chilly window panes,
Is whatever else is happening, it rains, and rains, and rains!