Dennis Lange Poems
Comments about Dennis Lange
The Melody Of The Wind
The wind may roar; the wind may shriek,
In passing trees - a rustle.
But 'tis the sweetest sound I seek,
Wind flexing music's muscle.
The wind may moan or it may howl
In nights of stormy weather.
But I don't want wind on the prowl,
But tame, as on a tether.
I want wind playing on the cords
That on my porch are hanging,
To make sweet music there, with chords,
And set my chimes a'clanging.
A Lost Love
How could she love me like the wind -
So touch my face, and make it bend
To her, and then soon disappear
On backs of white-tailed leaping deer?
As quickly as a norther blows
O'er prairie land, and never slows,
And ripples wheat like ocean waves,
She stirred my soul; she made me slave