Night Rain (Poetry)

It rained all night the night he died
its rhythms forced themselves inside
and drummed, relentless, in her head
the three-word chorus He is dead...

The wind picked up the sad refrain —
sang descant as the pounding rain
impassioned, flung its stormy grief
on all the sleeping world beneath —

a wild, empathic symphony
the thunder’s awesome tympani
rolling, surging on and on
repeating, mournful, He is gone...

as though the kingdom’s heart was numb
heard neither voice nor soulful drum
the rain persisted — sorrow poured
on every roof and bolted door

until the streets and gutters ran
like rivers cried for one dead man
then ebbing, fading to a hiss
resigned all things must come to this...

And with the dawn, a drizzle grey
that sighed condolence on the day
and comforted with a damp hand
the waking, newly-widowed land.