Too long hangs rain in our valley.

Sky's clouded face cracks to cry drizzle-patterns
over sown ground
and growing seedlings face hazard.

Too long has water earth-wronged.

Makes mud by changing each leaf to sponge
that ***** out green to
leave brown where verdant belongs.

Small lakes rise in the hedgerow-rose.

As tears of lime run down from hilly meadows
sad rinsing brings whispers
of wet killing by un-seasonal cold.


Too long shudder of feathers droop.

While across far horizons a fox runs foodless
as damp cubs look for sun
while prey floods in the hen-coop.

Too long a chill has made harvest weep.

Thatched cottages drip in the village street,
trees bleed moss and weight
burdens the thick-coated sheep.

Swathed in neglect droops each garden.

Knee-deep in unattained tasks the farmyard
sprouts idle days as folk bide
time waiting for signs of drying to start.

To long hangs rain in our valley.