Cold wind slapping tree branches,
The moon, frenzied, hidden, wonders when
The tempest and the temper will end.
Not yet: a lot more to go. the soldier in the train
The tramp in the tunnel,
The lone young man in a beige raincoat
Hurry along alone.
Then comes the rain, stinging,
The wild, wild rain, the cold drops
Stinging the eyes, the wind tearing at chimney pots
Some tiles will surely fall
The wild, wild rain will come
Dropping, dropping, onto the passive ground
Dark streets empty, the silence and the rain
The silence and the rain
Step to a wild, wild dance
In the darkened empty lane.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wild-wild-rain/
