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.
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