Dennis Lange Poems
The sounds repeated please the soul -
We love the falling rain
That softly pitters on the porch
And patters on the pane.
Alliteration fills our ears,
Like trilling r's in Spain,
Like opera singers singing scales
Of la la's in a chain.
Perhaps it is the heart of man,
The pulsing in the vein,
That whispers sweetly, whispers for
A whispered back refrain.
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