The Rain Was Falling. Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

The rain was falling.
Though no snow fell
the wind of frost neighed through
the boughs and trees
that huddled in the wood like naked
men and women in that tempest hoar:
The rain was falling.
Deep,
deep the water pencils fell adown
the window-panes condensed with
breath of the humans inside and
with the warmth of stoves and
lights and some ancient chimney-hearts.
Ah! the old city, the old town
how many chimneys here and there
old and grimy on their faces hurled
the winter tempest in its orgy wild.