I came in early
From working
On a day
I’d long planned
To cut back
Over grown plants
In the garden
But then the rains came
A grey mist at first
Blowing steadily
From the west ridge
Over the lee
Of the Oak woods
I sat in the kitchen
The back door
Had been open
Most of the day
I watched rain falling
And recalled
For some reason
The first time
I’d read through
Regarding Wave.
Gusting winds
Of a summer gale
Blowing in off
The Irish Sea
Sweeps through
The Birch
At the top of the garden
Littering the soil
With its leaves
I live in a small house
That in bad weather
Takes on the feel
Of a small ship
Buffeted
By high seas
And swept
By those Westerlies.
