The heavens fall, deluging darkened garden,
Spattering off laurel leaves; indoors
Rolled on the hearthrug, my new conkers glisten;
Over the mantel, deep in Alpine flowers
Forever, Herta Zuckermann, 13;
And, dishes washed and dried,
Mum switches on the radiogram. I listen
To piano quibbling against descending
Rain's orchestrations, sudden
Drumbursts on a pane,
Arpeggios dropping from a leaky gutter.
Rain falls in lamplit puddles, on bombed gaps
Among the houses, clogged with weeds and litter,
And shivering down through foliage drips
From horse-chestnuts where this afternoon we shied
Sticks at soft-spiked burrs that split on landing,
...