Rainy Days Poem by Mark Heathcote

What streets have seen more tears?
More grief than the cobbled streets of Manchester
My heart was once a flower meadow.
But now the prettiest, littlest thing that grows
In between the cracks are purple-blue Milkwort's
otherwise known as snakeroots; this is how
Our paths cross and combine until the way is lost.

Jostling for space for sunlight
overshadowing others more shrivelled-out and trampled-upon.
We appear from our cracks like fat, wriggling earthworms.
sensing a virginal world is unfolding,
But then along comes a blackbird.
Or a red robin and all our sunshine,
rainy days and tears are gone.