This poem still needs work. I like some of the images in it that I did not expect. There are some things I would have liked to put in that did not get in (perhaps a sonnet cycle is in order). I like the mouse image, but it probably does not work with all the other wet or watery images (but I needed the rhyme).
Critique as you like. I can take it.
Murree Monsoon
That gentle chill that seeped into our house
From grey clouds that rolled, wet, down verdant hills
Is steeping still. A feeling like a mouse
Which ventures out only when all is still
And nibbles memory. The kettle’s on
And, soon, sweet tea, like that which warmed us there
Will chill and warm again, and bring days gone
Rolling gently back, to hang in the air,
Condense and drip, drip, drip down to a floor
Of wet dark earth and brown, bent and pungent
Needles, whose broken scent now pierces more
Than then. I wonder where those feelings went
Which come back now and roar through mental tracts
Like those glorious muddy cataracts..