A WET MORN IN ENGLAND

A WET MORN IN ENGLAND

 

A cold thistledown damp plays across my face

while faint droplet taps try in vain to cling to glass,

sliding down in game show rivulets.

Everything is murky grey,

dour, mood smothering and ashen.

Car tyres on rain sodden tarmac, their tinny surge

and dull bass seem frantic, impatient and contrasts

with the shy rustle of water falling on Beech leaves.

A lone Bumble Bee rolls past,

it’s flight erratic as it’s buffeted and shoved, 

while a single Blackbird chirps, anger exploding

at random and in protest.

The rain is as if bored, idly making polka dots

on flat surfaces, odd coin shaped marks

appearing here and there.

And from the broken gutter plummets

a not planned for waterfall.

I can tell, It’ll rain all day.

8 thoughts on “A WET MORN IN ENGLAND

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s