Читать книгу Gold from the Stone - Lemn Sissay - Страница 24

Moods of Rain

Rain twisting down the air poles

Like a broken river.

Slicing through the air. Cold

Biting me, I shiver.

Get your Manchester Evening News.

Soggy paper, running print,

I’ve got those winter dark blues.

Wet, cold, and skint.

The rip in the side of my pocket

Lets trickles of rain tickle the palm of my hand,

The picture distorted and wet in its locket.

Give me sunshine and sweet golden sand.

I’m giving up dodging glassy-eyed puddles,

My feet like the kitchen cloth,

Face screwed up, no time for scruples.

Head down, walk straight and cough,

And silver speckled my licks are crowned.

Melting Black faces drip and shine,

No smile but an unsatisfied frown,

Same goes, I think, for mine.

Stepping through mirrored streets,

Reflections of the dirty skies,

Soaked from my head to my feet,

Drips from my lashes sting in my eye.

It is raining, and I give way,

Soaking and cold I should smile.

What the hell I’m wet for today

And there’s no use in getting so riled.

So kick the water, run down the road,

Hold your head up to the rain.

I was only feeling the cold,

Mind over matter over pain.

Soon I’ll be home throwing off my coat,

Wrestling with my hair,

Warm and hungry for curried goat,

And the windows haze in the air.

My merry moods

Change like the weather.