On the unseasonal rains we had during the first week of the war Talk to me about rain in OctoberSpeak of the clouds swinging byAnd the rains that tumble to the charred, broken earthAs they topple
Who would bewail an empty beachWhose sweeps of sand that lie far and vastBecome a salty desertAs they swallow waves of uncertaintyThat gently lap against the shore Who would bewail a quiet nightWith just sea for