Rain

The woodland drips in February rain    
heavy clouds hiding  sun and have      
for days and many to come, cold    
a cold that shivers the soul    
sodden shoulders corduroy, ginger in      
the sun, darkened by the rain's heavy ,   
stiff and cold embrace.      
     
I did not know him,or his name    
stains of tobacco on his finger nails    
smell of oak smoke, sweat,and rabbit skins,    
damp a  damp that clings about    
corrugated walls and leaking window panes,    
Soil floors, earth beneath ragged rugs    
of clips cut from old coats worn    
long after  usefulness,an old nail    
he'd used these lonely years,    
still shining ,smoothed by coarse sacking .   
Warp and weft of jute wrapped round  knees    
keeping legs warm in candle light    
repelling February rain's  unremitting cold.    
A distant village clock counts five,    
pendulous time no relief from rain      
and chilling draughts,    
     
I read this story from  walls of a hut    
not  grade 2 listed,  none the less    
once home  for a man who cared      
for this wood ,now sad and neglected   
I guess,I do not know the truth,perhaps    
he was a charcoal burner or swine-herd .   
Who knows ? Who cares ?    
.All I know he was cold and wet      
each February  night when it rained    
as foxes sulked and rabbits feared the dawn.