September rain falls on the house

In the falling light, the old grandmother

Sits in the kitchen with the child

Sitting beside the wood burning stove

Reading verses from the bible

Talking to hide her own tears

 

She thinks that her equinoctial tears

And her rain that beats on the roof of the house

Were both foretold by the lord’s bible

But only known to the grandmother

The tea kettle screamed on the stove

She slices the pie and says to the child

 

It is time for tea now but the child

Is watching the tea kettle’s small tears

Dance and bang insanely on the stove

The way the raindrops dance on the house

Cleaning, the dear, frail grandmother

Sets on the table, the bible

 

Tempting the dear child, the bible

Is opened for the child by the grandmother

And her teacup is full of dark brown tears

She sips lightly as the wind howls to the house

As it eats all the wood, the stove

The grandmother cries for the child

 

Flying away into the clouds, the child

Peaks at it and smiles to the bible

Not running out of wood, the stove

Waterfalls came flood as tears

He flies, with angel wings from the house

And she waves at the child, the dear, frail grandmother.