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In trees I walked at Smoky’s feet,
And calm the forest floor.
‘Twas late October and the leaves
All Autumn’s colors wore.

It rained a bit the night before,
And though the earth was damp,
My shoes did not pick up the mud
While on my silent tramp.

The fallen leaves well-paved my path;
They made a yellow way
That Dorothy’d been proud to walk
In Oz in her brief stay.

The leaf-laid carpet and that trail
‘Twas all my eyes could see,
The forest closed out all the world
And I was cloistered, free.

There was a great serenity
With Nature as I walked.
I listened as my soft steps fell,
And as the forest talked.

I passed a stream; it gurgled peace,
Caught drops of last night’s rain –
A few that fin’lly fell – but why?
(The reason not yet plain.)

I saw another mystery;
It struck me as most odd.
A leaf, then two, came floating down
As slow as turtles plod.

I saw then, out among the trees,
One here, another there.
First glance, they seemed like butterflies
With wings in disrepair.

They did not scurry, did not slant;
Their vertical was straight,
As if they were a dropping stone –
And yet they had no weight.

I took the line of their descent;
Gazed upward where the trees
All disappeared from sight by height –
And then I saw the breeze!

And then I knew why raindrops fell
When there was no more mist,
And why the leaves were shaken loose
But fell without a twist.

How isolated I felt then!
The world was not about.
And now I knew that Nature, too,
E’en Nature had shut out.

Like spiders coming down a strand,
The leaves did downward crawl.
And watching their descent I knew
Why men call Autumn, Fall.

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The photo is mine and was taken in Smoky Mt. National Park.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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I dreamed that one had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand;
And they had nailed the boards above her face,
The peasants of that land.
Wondering to lay her in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of two bits of wood
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
She was more beautiful than thy first love,
But now lies under boards.

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Stories told
Second hand may have
Distortions.

— 

It’s a game
That we call Gossip.
And, it’s life.

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photo by Dez Pain at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dyWW8y/Balloons+7

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

 

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The moon and the sun are providing
This minute a sky that’s exciting.
I’d like to say “howdy”,
But here it’s too cloudy.
So I’m at my desk these lines writing.

I wish, since I can’t see the wonder,
Because the thick clouds will not sunder,
That it would just rain –
Pitter patter my pane.
I’d like to see lightning; hear thunder.

I’ll guess I’ll just wait till the next one.
In two ought three three, there’ll be more fun.
Egads! I’ll be old!
……Oh.
I shouldn’t have told.
……Sigh.
Eclipsed super moon brought admission.

————————————————

I did get to see the eclipse. After I had
written the second stanza, I checked the
sky again and the clouds had parted and
there was the red moon in the heavens.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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Shy one, shy one,
Shy one of my heart,
She moves in the firelight
Pensively apart. 

She carries in the dishes,
And lays them in a row.
To an isle in the water
With her I would go. 

She carries in the candles,
And lights the curtained room,
Shy in the doorway
And shy in the gloom; 

And shy as a rabbit,
Helpful and shy.
To an isle in the water
With her would I fly.

 

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I’ve watched my blog odometer
For several weeks, and now
This poem or next will make it turn
To a nice hundred thou.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

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