Droplets, flicked off the waving trees,            Shower me with wet. The abundant trees           Full-throated bastions of wet in the nest.           The birds are soaked but cheerfully quiet         Their breeding has been done, fledglings       Scattering raindrops as they show off              Their wings. I look on bedraggled, envious.         Rain is such a comfort on these crowded     Islands. Rarely tempestuous, mostly mild,         Like the people. Slow to storm, but persistent.        I love to hear the sound of rain on windows          Or in puddles, the same as when I was a boy Whispering 'ship ahoy' at the merest mention of  Water. Now in these latter days, upon this fractured isle,                                                            The rain slides down my window, as red as blood at slaughter.