On Our Morning Walk Poem by Colin Breck Boardman

On our morning walk, my dog and I,
Caught unprepared by an inconsiderate storm
Found cover under the leaning trunk of a wizened oak,
As there was no other shelter from the lashing,
Nor no maid to warm our bones;
And as we sat and pondered
(Or ate doggy biscuits)
In the dripping dampness of the copse.
I thought upon the poets of the past
Whom such a moment would transcend
These fast running streams
To wondrous extremes,
To make dappled darkness shine
Through the pearly raindrops,
And perhaps bring forth an unexpected world
Upon an word,
Or vice versa.

So there we sat, getting wet,
My puppy's face a picture of confused joy
To be sitting in the mud, waiting on command,
Waiting for the sun
To wipe away the darkening desolation
Of that dank and gloomy grove,
While the oak cried and wept its acorns to the ground,
As all clouded over.