Rain beats a tango on my window pane.
Welcome home it sings as it casts
memories of where it used to be.
The ripples of lowland lakes
that quake in a steady breeze
scented with the blooming gifts
of hawthorn trees.
And streams that run over granite slopes
cascade down over rugged ground
to irrigate bog and fen home to egret
and dark moorhen, to duck and drake,
goose and gander.
Stream meanders on to form a river
Blues and sorrows drown
in the cleanness of April showers.
Welcome home in whispers
– Dave Kavanagh