a remembrance of Cornish days



Poems 23

The Rain it Raineth Every Day

Upon the Just and Unjust Fellow ..

But, 'tis the Just that Getteth Wet

Because the Unjust hath the Just's Umbrella!




A Spell of Rain


I felt compelled

To pen this ode

To salve my guilt

And stop this curse!

Pool Outdoor Market

Was it’s start.

A box of books,

One pound each part.

I rummaged in,

And, vellum-bound,

Raddled, damaged

This book, a pound!


Spells and potions.

Herbal cures,

Soothing lotions”

Amongst its pages

There, laid out,

A Spell to use

In times of drought.

Since it was Spring

And land was dry,

I thought “I’ll give

That Spell a try”.

At dead of night

With torch in hand,

To Tregajorran Carn

The view was grand.

I spoke the Words,

I stepped the Dance.

It took a while,

Then, skyward glance ..

Sadly, no rain!

I stumbled home

And at that time

Forgot my ‘magic’ tome

But, over days

There came dark skies.

Wet months began,

Waters did rise.

Rain unceasing,

Rivers swollen,

Flooded homes,

Damage appalling,

I felt so guilty,

Was it my Spell?

Would my book help

The rain to quell?

The crucial page?

Missing! I looked in vain!

There was no Dance

To stop the rain!

When time permits

I shall, for sure

Search that box for

The missing cure.

Hence, this excuse.

 I don’t feel clever!

I cannot help!

Might rain forever!

Will the Wizard help

This Sorcerer’s Apprentice?

Else, I fear the worst

We will become like Venice!


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 'POEMS' 23