Rain In Holland

Nestled amongst the roots of the age—old oak tree,
Intricate, arching branches, entwined, surrounding me;
Enveloped beneath the canopy of light,
Fields of vivid tulips stretch beyond my sight.
Lonely wind, gathering strength for a final attempt,
Billows and subsides, retreating with contempt;
And falling back, disheartened, the breeze slowly dies,
With it the light diminishing, before my wary eyes.
Coal black, aggressive clouds hover overhead,
And thunder to the rhythm of my hurried tread;
Like sacks full to bursting, clouds leak out their tears,
I unfold my umbrella as the winding river nears...
Encased in brilliant colours, I begin the soft descent,
Down gently sloping hillside, where I smell a reeking scent;
Hidden; obscured from view, the hectic, frenzied highway,
Fumes mingling with the clouds of the stormy day.


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