Written During A Downpour Poem by David Mitchell

The fierce rain falling fast from angry clouds
Descends suddenly, not in silence; its fall is swift;
It rolls down rapidly, the rain so sad,
Muffling the music of many a lark's sweet song,
With its loud and luscious but unlovely sound.
The sorrow of the shower is short. For now
The song has ceased. A more splendid melody begins,
Or continues a tune that was taken away by a firmer sound.
The music we hear more clearly now is the melody of many a winged creature.
The rain has not ceased to roll from the once-roaring heaven:
But the magic of its music, that was so marvellous, is now lost:
Lost for a time, a transient loss: the sound is not taken from our ears for ever.
A time will come when the cuckoo, the kestrel, the blackbird,
The skylark, the seagull, and every songbird shall be silenced.
Then every sound and every sight that has been seen or heard
Shall be no more: the music and the melodies of the earth shall be inaudible.
The rising sun, the stars themselves, shall dissolve, with all the rest of the universe;
All, all shall suffer, and, like snow, all creation, no stronger than sand, shall melt away.
Dreadful will be the day of the descent of the Almighty!

(David Mitchell, Wednesday,24th May,2006.)