Dennis Lange Poems
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.
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.