Rain on a Grave

Wonder why
      the rain is in November?
It comes down
        heavily like
love’s own heart,
    which is gone to be alone.

Anyhow, in the end, every matter be washed of tears so that it is free of the mists and former fears.

Anyhow, feel it rain, listen to its rhythm tap the bed-fast that once held love!

There is a grave now hidden— a shroud of nature, upon the heart, stirring on to death.

• HD Hilda Doolittle