Beatson (The Cancer Ballads I)

Monday morning rain

on the first day of July.

The sun is soundly sleeping,

only grey clouds appear

in the morning sky.

 

The birds are chirping loudly,

the rain will not stop them sing,

Glasgow has woken,

for nature has spoken

as church bells no longer ring.

 

The overgrown weeds that

lap up and absorb the fresh tears

of the morning rain,

grow and expanded with no pain

for landscapers may never return for years.