The Wick Has Burned Down To The Wax by Dennis Allen Lange

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The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The yellow flame’s flicker is weak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The toil of the day takes its toll and it wracks
The candle and man till life’s bleak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

The slope of sleep’s soothing sweet tunnel attracts,
Though Day clutches man with its beak.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The cares of tomorrow add to the mind’s tax.
One wrestles, it seems, for a week.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks. 

Oh! for a pinch to the flame to relax
The light-load; bring rest that we seek!
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax. 

The sandman has tried, but his sand supply lacks.
The sheep flock? – the worry wolves wreak.
The hour of weariness – Midnight – attacks.
The wick, having worked, has burned down to the wax.

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photo by Camilla Hviid at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/puzT8WQ/Nothern+Coziness

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

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A Closing Conversation – haiku by Dennis Lange

 

A Closing Conversation

Not “good night”,
But tree gives sun thanks
For good day.

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“Needed that,”
Said tree.  And the sun,
“You’re welcome.”

—

And those two
Bid each other bye
Till morrow.

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photo by Steve Woods at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mhAbYVY/Sun+Down

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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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To-morrow by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

…………………….To-morrow

‘T is late at night, and in the realm of sleep

…My little lambs are folded like the flocks;

…From room to room I hear the wakeful clocks

…Challenge the passing hour, like guards that keep

Their solitary watch on tower and steep;

…Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks,

…And through the opening door that time unlocks

…Feel the fresh breathing of To-morrow creep.

To-morrow! the mysterious, unknown guest,

…Who cries to me: “Remember Barmecide,

…And tremble to be happy with the rest.”

And I make answer: “I am satisfied;

…I dare not ask; I know not what is best;

…God hath already said what shall betide.”

 

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