The rains came early that September

Falling from a brooding leaden sky,

After months of unending sunshine

When all colour drained from fields and leaves,

And small lakes and reservoirs dried up,

Baked earth like concrete all that remained.

The relentless downpour turned the earth

To a sea of mud, mud everywhere,

Getting into homes, soiling carpets 

And staining floors; and cold driving winds

Stripped all the leaves from the dried up trees

To be churned to brown mush underfoot.

All this a metaphor for our love,

A passion that had blossomed in spring

And burned with growing intensity

As the months progressed, a flame so fierce

That it scorched the soul, consuming all

Until no trace of kindness remained.

Inevitably small irritants 

Became amplified leaving deep wounds

That no pleading could entirely heal,

And too soon the unblemished surface

Of affection was brutally scarred

And sweet innocence turned to harsh words.

At last, exhausted by autumn storms,

When all the bright beauty of the spring

Was nothing more than a memory,

After all the recriminations

And intemperate accusations,

No tender words could bind up the rift.

In the few periods of sunshine

Fond hope of reconciliation

Briefly sprang up and as quickly died,

Trampled underfoot into the mire,

The sullen detritus of anger

That smothers all belief in healing.

The end, although inevitable,

Came suddenly, a bolt of lightning

That seared with heart stopping agony,

A last fatal misunderstanding

That no entreaties could have redeemed.

Winter cannot come to soon for me,

When, like the sterile frozen potholes

Under their blanket of kindly snow

The pain will be sealed up out of reach.

Against all sense I still live in hope

That with the new coming of the spring

My love and I will be reconciled.