Reverend Rain Poem by james watkin

From coach, with the frightening horns
And a veneer as chilling
Some look for spite to step down
Spitting out acorns;
Who look again, at crops spilling.

Blessing the sapped beds with kisses
That are a dripping man's
Of those who have converts become
Not one dismisses
Solemnity, which the wind fans!

Of exorcists, on whom one calls
You were Heaven-sent!
Ear rubbed with silvery heels
Of silvery balls
Like all music expels lament.