Rainy Saturday (Barnoldswick, England).

 

No need to water flower beds.

We’ll sit and watch the shoppers dash,

We’ll watch the swallows dodge the drops:

The day will pass with nothing lost.

 

We know the way the branches dance:

The wind blows up the street (not down).

The cat will curl between the pots,

And twitch and mutter through her dreams.

 

We know the patterns of the hours:

The shadows round the basil plants.

We know the moods of sleep and food,

And change (which hardly ever is).

 

I read a book on pointless wars

And wonder: what does all this mean?

 

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7 Comments to “Rainy Saturday (Barnoldswick, England).”

  1. It just means itself. Nice poem!

  2. Probably means we’ve still got a lot of learning to do… Like this poem

  3. This is GREAT. Where is Barnoldswick? Do you live there? My grandfather was born and raised in the Lake District.

    • thanks! Barnoldswick is in Lancashire (just – it’s on the border with Yorkshire). The Lake District is about an hour away from here. Where abouts was he from? Have you been there?

  4. Ah, I remember those rainy English summer days well – makes me feel almost nostalgic for them. There is a sense of repetition and yet of comfort and ease in your description of these rain-soaked weekends.

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