missing the rain

 

missing the rain is not a major crime
we surface into shades of paler grey
cold night just slowly faded into day
the pond below is cleansed of all its slime
no distant bells interrupt with a chime
but nothing moves the year we come to slay
is sliding quickly right out of the way
of all our journeys now we think of time
this is a moment when we long to soak
our weary feet in water more than warm
and let our minds move slower than a crawl
to tell the difference between task and joke
and watch while foolish others join the swarm
all ready to cross over the next wall

between the storms

 

raw day in december absence of light
a moment for thought then to bend each back
to make this journey's not a case of right

the change we hope for is both late and slight
a breeze desired arrives on the wrong tack
raw day in december absence of light

we take the winter as a sort of blight
glad we're not huddled in a tiny shack
to make this journey's not a case of right

things seem much worse when days are bright
and underfoot each blade of grass will crack
raw day in december absence of light

we know these powers far greater than our might
not one of us has got the force or knack
to make this journey's not a case of right

indifferent now between the day and night
the time is warmest when the sky's deep black
raw day in december absence of light
to make this journey's not a case of right

what's most desired

 

the way to hope long ago closed and barred
gives us good reason to smile at this hour
each memory we cherish then discard
our faces turn from smiling to quite dour
the tastes experienced from sweet to sour
we left the ship tied up at the north quay
turning our backs on the long time at sea
not needing much our feet here to persuade
towards the places only fools would flee
our efforts guarantee we'll make the grade

the wishes we once made have long been marred
by those who find it easier to glower
and leave the hopeful only a sharp shard
our hearts confronting this must quail and cower
around us now the harsh winds rush and scour
allowing not a one simply to be
what we would want nobody would agree
that in the tempest only those afraid
of horrid consequence refuse to see
our efforts guarantee we'll make the grade

those choices never made turn out quite hard
the villains never great are just a shower
of foolish sorts against whom we must guard
and who should never be allowed much power
so that the worst will never come to flower
there are not many who would make the plea
against the ones who hold the golden key
to step aside and just end their charade
that is no reason for such prideful glee
our efforts guarantee we'll make the grade

prince you may watch as under the great tree
the many halt and brew their morning tea
waiting like all of us for the parade
each of us pays the standard entrance fee
since nothing in this life is truly free
our efforts guarantee we'll make the grade

winter observation

 mauves browns and greens all turning out quite flat
there were no magics hidden in dead leaves
no cards were lurking up the player's sleeves

the rules are clear no time for moral chat
follies collected gathered up in sheaves
mauves browns and greens all turning out quite flat

in winter bears live off their summer fat
on hay we feed the steaming stamping beeves
each tree each bush for the lost season grieves
mauves browns and greens all turning out quite flat