II

Meeting in Autumn

I have been waiting long
In this place,
As still myself as the buildings
And the bare tree opposite
Grey in the falling rain.

Only my mind
Moves out among the lifeless,
Crosses the street—
I hear the splashing of my footsteps
Sounding by the distant walls.

And still the rain drips,
Drips from the walls and from the trees,
Streams down the gutters
And down the far off mountain side.

Here where all is washed by rain
The memories of yesterday
One with tomorrow's images,
Flow past my feet,
Flow past my ebbing self.

And so why is it when you come
I return again into my narrow doorway,
And shaking off the drops of rain,
Inquire why you are late?

Lorna Clendon