The Chimney

Just sitting by the casement looking close at rain that makes this day all gray and cold. It beats upon the trees nearby and those that line the way where newer growth is bold. Come see drops strike against this old glass pane where droplets chase an-other's runlet trail. This day then musing thusly I would fain to hope that heavens hold back heavy hail. Sounds play their notes upon tin chimney pipe a tune that comforts me in my soft seat. This useless stove itself is quite the type without a care to generate much heat. A lazy quiet day it seems to be that often may please the likes of me.