…weeps for the fallen

Raindrops are tapping a melody, loud, as if falling on stone steps
slowly becoming a hazy drizzle, gently veiling weeping trees
I stand alone in the mist, as it circles me in silence
a form that has no form, that eerie aspect of rain
the harsher elements gently smoothed away
as everything gives way, to to its cold caress
I hear the sound of sobbing, rain driven by the wind
in all of this vast expanse there is not one unclouded tree
drenched and drowning in the recent falls
they all stand shivering in abject desolation
the moonlight reflects in the water
painting its gentle art, bleeding into the dark
a shroud wraps the world in cold silk
and shades of grey mourning colours
and the sky, weeps for the fallen
© Ann Bagnall