Mark R Slaughter - February Rain lyrics

To be the mud, the bog, the mire; To soak the bones in February – Eons from the autumn shower– Even from a summer berry! Sparrows chirp a desperate call, Darting questions at the cows – Oblivious to the dousing squall, they Churn the sludge with pastern ploughs. The crying air was lost in rhythm: Drums incessant in the drops; Not a chance for rainbow prism – Even if the hammering stops! Metallic chills entrap machines – Tractors hushed within the shed. Inside the house, a full cuisine To bless with mead – and little said! But out across the tiring field, A sodden fox is hunting down His prey of sorts – but nil of yield; Perhaps he'll starve; perhaps he'll drown. Still the clouds are hammering, Hammering home their dreary aim – A chatterbox in constant yammering, Drenching all to make a claim.