When It Rains in Scandinavia

Dawn's on hold for another day as it rains;

We can trust it's still the dark of night,

And tiptoe to dreams 'way the clarity of ways,

The many asleep and the few asight.

Aimless the mists swim like ghosts of Christmas,

Pall the empty stone-eyed sweaty streets;

As nostrils drool over the precious petrichorus,

Breathless, how it leaves me incomplete...

'Tis a strange green I open my windows to,

Pages go damp, cross them shades run askew;

The thunder's but a distant cry should it scare you,

But I'll trace the winds hear the stories they brew.

O' dreams o' old oft-hearted so long outgrown-

Why I yearn homesick for what's afar unknown?

A kind stranger soul there perhaps I feel alone,

Cushion me to good baby sleep whilst sweet cattle moan!

Shameless my words swim they 'scape me in haste,

Lest revealed they shall rather keep me await,

Of rains to come for now her silver strands sour,

Clouds divorce birthing this unresolved hour...

The early bird scrounges the earth for worms,

To soothe its rain-starved limbs;

Off it goes, and sits on wires pensive-

We wake up to shell-shocked screams.