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!