Too Long.
Too long hangs rain in our valley.
Sky\'s cloudy face cracks to cry patterns
over damp ground
and young plantings face hazard.
Small lakes pool in low cattle-holds
Tears of lime cascade from high meadows,
while rinsings raise whispers
of killing by drizzle\'s unwelcome cold.
Too long a shudder aids feather-droop.
Across horizons as fox runs food-less,
drenched cubs look for fill
while chicken prey hunch in wet coop.
Swathed in failure lies each garden.
Knee-deep in undone tasks the backyard
idles away as labour bides
time waiting for signs of drying to start.
Too long a chill makes farmers weep.
Thatched cottages drip in the village street,
trees bleed moss and weight
burdens thick-coated in-lamb sheep.
For weeks has water earth wronged.
Muddy dirt changes grass to sponge
that sucks out green to
leave brown where feeding belongs.
To long hangs rain in our valley.