Motorcyclists take shelter under a flyover as Delhi receives heavy February rainfall!

2014-08-12 4

February Rain

To be the mud, the bog, the mire;
To soak the bones in February --
Eons from the autumn shower--
Even from a summer berry!

Sparrows chirp a desperate call,
Darting questions at the cows --
Oblivious to the dousing squall, they
Churn the sludge with pastern ploughs.

The crying air was lost in rhythm:
Drums incessant in the drops;
Not a chance for rainbow prism --
Even if the hammering stops!

Metallic chills entrap machines --
Tractors hushed within the shed.
Inside the house, a full cuisine
To bless with mead -- and little said!

But out across the tiring field,
A sodden fox is hunting down
His prey of sorts -- but nil of yield;
Perhaps he'll starve; perhaps he'll drown.

Still the clouds are hammering,
Hammering home their dreary aim --
A chatterbox in constant yammering,
Drenching all to make a claim.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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