It’s not so much the weeping leaf

Or branches lowered in summer grief.

It’s not the puddles filling up

Making streams and drains erupt.

It’s not the tear stained window pane

Or soggy lawn and bogged terrain.

It’s not the grey that covers blue

Or hills submerged in misty hew.

N’or paths so dark in dampness shroud

N’or brollies jostling in the crowd.

It’s not the flowers weighted down

Or soggy train of wedding gown.

It’s none of that which upsets me

Though ask again in June – we’ll see!