Soft, gentle-Welsh rain falling,
Hour after hour the rain drips down,
‘Till houses, trees, hedgerows, windows – all become rain-sodden,
Soused in old-church doctrine:
Suffocating thought and action.
Late afternoon and there’s been no let up,
A brief glimmer of late-afternoon sunshine peering down,
Shining in puddles on the drowned-ground,
Giving rise to last-minute plans,
Thinking about getting out and about
With if-it’s-really-worth-it-now doubts.
Instead, we’ve sat and talked,
Reminisced and drank gallons of tea,
Sub-consciously building memories
On Bank Holiday Monday,
With my Dad and Mam
While we still can.
Copyright wordz2Go May 20162 Corinthians 11: 1