On The Road by Dennis Allen Lange

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I can’t spend the night in Poughkeepsie,
Though I’m tired and the whole world seems tipsy.
…I’ve farther to go
…And must not e’en slow.
I’m footloose and free as a gypsy.

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photo by Karen Kelly at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mWIHC4M/vacancy

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

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Don’t Quit – anonymous

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must – but don’t you quit. 

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow –
You might succeed with another blow. 

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out –
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt –
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –
It’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.

 

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Weathering The Storms by Dennis Lange

 

      Weathering The Storms 

Once, in its beauty, this tree stood,
   Full for the eye to see
The glory of its leaves and wood,
   Splendor and symmetry. 

It stands this day, forlorn and bare,
   Alone, fresh stripped and shorn,
Like sheep, of wool, when weather’s fair,
   Like ear shucked of its corn. 

If trouble comes in threes, there’s more –
   And true, now looms new storm
That will assault and strike before
   The tree regains its form. 

How can some stand successive blasts
   Of wind, and waves of woe?
How can some suffer pain that lasts
   Beyond what most will know? 

It is a secret none can tell,
   But would, if just they could.
For even those who bear up well
   Don’t know just how they’ve stood. 

Perhaps it’s merely day by day,
   And never more than one,
That is the secret of the way
   To stand and say you’ve won. 

And certainly, it must be true
   That character of root –
How deep it is, in what soil grew
   That settles all dispute. 

And last, it may be other ones,
   The ones who won before,
The ones who faced down all the guns,
   Stood ready for some more. 

Just knowing that some others stand,
   Gives grit to those now stressed.
They, too, might join that hearty band
   And pass the newest test. 

So, tender tree, forlorn and bare,
   In sights of coming storm,
We root for you in ev’ry prayer
   That you withstand all harm.   

Stand firm and steadfast in your woe;
   We watchers want to see
Two things in one: you bear this blow;
   Our future victory.

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 photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at 
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/msdTqJo/Sorrow

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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