Rain on the hill

Across the hillside the rain draws in,
wipes the valley clean on its way,
turns the city iron clad
distant, proud to muted grey

Dying bracken sucks at lazy rain,
drops its limpid blood on the floor.
Each shred of tattered light glimmers
more despondent than before.

House lights flicker far, forlorn
get tangled in the gloom and drowned,
faded day turns sadness silent
for love lost, absence found.

Mist pulls the evening in behind,
wraps time in its capacious sweep;
gives the hill a lamenting kiss
causing the trees, and I, to weep.