Raw Days Poem by David Welch

The wind, a constant noise, keeps roiling on,
blows through bare branches with the leaves long gone,
cool April's chill is warmer than the snow,
up in the mountains it has yet to go,
sticks and debris are littering the lawn.

The drizzle rain has fell for three days now,
when it hits metal roofs it sounds so loud,
add it to the water from the snowmelt,
all of the streams and creeks begin to swell,
overflowing onto grass that's still brown.

The clouds above, a mottled ceiling, gray,
it's settled in, and seems disposed to stay,
sits on the land, casting a weighty pall,
went out today but saw no sun at all,
warmth is to come, but now it's just raw days.