at least no thunder

there are messages in those wet clinging leaves
none any more in those piled on the ground
i watch the drip from underneath the eaves
there's something sad and mournful in the sound
the trees are living skeletons grasping at birds
that pass by in formation heading further south
i juggle in my mind the necessary words
it seems i taste them in my thirsty mouth
the backs of houses seem all beige and sad
the steady drip gives them a hang-dog look
i turn back to my work and then feel glad
in finding the right concepts in the book
i cast my mind back to this morning's train
and think of those who journey in this rain