This day

This day

This day


The rain comes down on panes

Of glass that shudder with wet sounds

A tumbling repetition of reminders

That life is tough


The sky. Implacably grey

Emits its silver pellets

With the blank poker-face

Of a giant in the grip of boredom


And we, with our intermittent hopes

Shelter from the aural assault

Diffident. Changing the scope of plans

That were set firm before the fall


Puddles formed in cavaties

Swell, seeking a spirit level

Rising to the point at which

Our collective hopes will sink


And thus another day colludes

With our remaindered views

To put a weight upon