Rain

Rain

What is rain,

But an apology,

For something

It has not done.

Beethoven

Lowry

The Occurrence

 The Occurrence

I had forgotten something,

As I searched a hollow pocket.

Rummaging in the lining silk

And across an absent locket.

But not for something lost,

Nor mislaid, but bereft.

An invasion of my senses told

I had forgotten to forget.

Larkin

Larkin

Larkin, Larkin!

The chorus of the starving.

Chanting at the Lockout Gates

Through the cold, carving.

 Larkin, Larkin!

The slogan on the picket.

Hobnails on the rainy cobbles

Music of the Striking thicket.

 Larkin, Larkin!

The echo of the slum.

Resounding in the Dublin streets

 Against the baton’s drum.

Larkin, Larkin!

From those who trade the dawn.

For tenants in a pauper’s grave

Or ghosts upon the Somme

Larkin, Larkin!

The voice no longer speaks.

The Irish heart is dead and gone

It dwells beneath the clique.

Robert Frost

Robert Frost

There is a scene

 That is a rhyme.

That dwells in a place

And reflects a time.

Perfectly!