Friday Night In The Rain

O and a cold friday night it was,
And I was walking down in the rain, 
People walking the road to home, 
Water but more washed out in the rain. 
Cold was a feeling , a  passing thought; 
A haze of smoke and mist in the rain,
Memories of old and dearly bought,
O what pain was flowing out in the rain! 

--lost the rest of it. Will need to revise the poem though.

The Willowy Apparition

Is it the wine that speaks, 
Or the inner id, 
Of the gloomy years and unending tales, 
And of the few that I can speak.
Ere the nights grow long,
And the days grow dark, 
Before the years are done, 
And the writing is stark. 

Willows do stand, Willows do fall, 
By the brook they stand,
By that brook they fall.

Something by the way they stand, 
Something by the way they fall.