Spring sowing


The wind has stilled, the rain falls soft,
Soaking into the deep black loam,
Painting each leaf with silver light
And pooling pewter where the earth dips
In gentle curves to catch the fallen drops.
The sky rolls, an ocean of heaving cloud,
A multitude of shades from slate to dove,
Shredding to opal mists where the river runs.
But when the day breaks slow,
The light creeping thick and bleak
Through veils of water yet again,
My heart aches to feel a warmer touch
And for the sharp spring sowing to be done
For the roses all are fallen
And I long for a sight of the sun.