Too Long.
Too long hangs rain in our valley.
Sky\'s cloudy face cracks to cry wet patterns
over sown ground
and growing seedlings face hazard.
Too long has water earth wronged.
Makes mud by changing each leaf to sponge
that sucks out green to
leave brown where verdance belongs.
Small lakes pool in hedgerow roses.
Tears of lime cascade from higher meadows,
sad rinsing brings whispers
of killing by drizzle\'s unwelcome cold.
Too long shudder of feathers droop.
While across far horizons a fox runs foodless,
drenched cubs look for sun
while flooded prey hunch in hen-coop.
Too long a chill makes harvest weep.
Thatched cottages drip in the village street,
trees bleed moss and weight
burdens dripping thick-coated sheep.
Swathed in unheeding lies each garden.
Knee-deep in undone tasks the farmyard,
idle days sprout as folk bide
time waiting for signs of drying to start.
To long hangs rain in our valley.