Her Fragile Spell

Another day of dreary rain; we’re
blessed of course – to think it less a
beggar’s debt to fortune’s smile.

She beams largesse in gentle clouds
of misted showers; drought’s arid pain
is put aside – we watch thru’ panes

of frosted glass to clearly hear the echoes
lilt in mutual happiness. The Orchard
sings its melodies expressed as shades

of rampant green, in growing grass,
in ringing bird-calls conquering the
open air – insects teem beneath the

feet of grazing bird, some to feed their
growing broods. With less to do and more
to see my avid eyes are aching tired.

The rest has left me lethargy I can’t dispel
or better shake, I dare not make a restless
move lest it would break her fragile spell.
© 3 January 2008, I. D. Carswell