The Rainy Day (An Ode To Longfellow) Poem by Mohamed Mustapha

The sky is veiled, a heavy grey,
The weary wind sighs through the spray;
A leaden light, both cold and dim,
Falls on the world, a mournful hymn.
The day is dark, and drear, and still,
A weight upon the restless will;
And thoughts, like leaves before the blast,
Are scattered, torn, and overcast.

This rain, relentless, soft and deep,
Falls where the hidden sorrows sleep;
It beats upon the mossy eaves,
And drips from every dripping leaf.
Against the walls, half-lost and lone,
Where crumbling stones are overgrown,
A vagrant vine, with pleading grace,
Still clutches at its resting place.

My thoughts are grey as skies above,
My spirit seeks a shelter, love,
From wind's sharp whip and rain's cold tears,
The gathering gloom of passing years.
The days are dark, and chill, and slow,
Where hidden currents ebb and flow;
The heart's own weather, fierce and deep,
Denies the soul its peaceful sleep.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind these clouds, a sun is shining.
Thy fate is but the common lot
Of all who breathe, in field or cot.
The storm without, the storm within,
Are woven threads where life begins.
Each soul must face the driving rain,
And know its solitude and pain.

Yet mark the grace within the fall:
The thirsty earth drinks deep of all;
The hidden seed, beneath the loam,
Finds in this gloom its journey home.
The greyest day, however long,
Holds in its heart a hidden song -
The promise that the rain imparts
To weary minds and broken hearts.

So let the rain its music make,
Though skies may weep and branches break.
For even sorrow, soft and deep,
Can lull the restless world to sleep,
And wash the dust from weary eyes,
Beneath these ever-changing skies.
Be still, sad heart, endure, be strong;
The rain, too, whispers: 'This belongs.'