Spring rains, where are you?
Your winding tracks rivulets that stick
As tea leaves do, smudged remnants recall
Some hundred forgotten stains. We pick
Those we would wipe dry before they fall.
In one scene, your arm up-reaching to save,
We think, an apple trimmed too soon, displaced
By gravity’s truth. Palm upward-poised to pave
Soft earth might mute its falling, unbraced
For this metaphor to come unstuck
As hand, tree, apple all fall apart
When we realise we cannot pluck
Hope from life’s branches as birds start
In song. We cannot sing out in prayer for
Spring rains, though we need your afterglow,
Wait for epilogue to follow downpour
When the world breathes and this flow
Smiles itself dry.