Posts Tagged ‘white’

Her hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light;–
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.

But not beneath a graven stone,
To plead for tears with alien eyes;
A slender cross of wood alone
Shall say, that here a maiden lies
In peace beneath the peaceful skies.

And gray old trees of hugest limb
Shall wheel their circling shadows round
To make the scorching sunlight dim
That drinks the greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.

When o’er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,
The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches high,
And every minstrel-voice of Spring,
That trills beneath the April sky,
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.

When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets, sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.

At last the rootlets of the trees
Shall find the prison where she lies,
And bear the buried dust they seize
In leaves and blossoms to the skies.
So may the soul that warmed it rise!

If any, born of kindlier blood,
Should ask, What maiden lies below?
Say only this: A tender bud,
That tried to blossom in the snow,
Lies withered where the violets blow.


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The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wandering light,
Began to cry, but God, ever nigh,
Appeared like his father, in white. 

He kissed the child, and by the hand led,
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, through the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.


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(sent in Christmas cards 2015)

The colors red and green, those two,
Are Christmas colors, yuletide’s cue,
As though its season after fall
Invites us to another ball.

Green is the holly; green the tree,
And green some stockings that we see.
Green is the mistletoe we hang;
From which some Christmas kissing sprang.

Red are the balls upon the tree;
Red are some stockings filled with glee.
Red’s Santa in his jolly suit,
Until he slides down chimney’s chute.

When put together, red and green,
Have one important thing they mean:
A treasure stored up in the heart
That one adds to, but will not part.

We often dream of one more hue
A blanket thicker than the dew –
A coat of snow that covers all,
A Christmas white that will enthrall.

But topped or not with whipping cream,
Our faces fill with Christmas gleam.
It leaves for us a colored print
Of just how much the season meant.


photo by Michael Pohl at

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

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I am a greenhouse plant that grew
From seed to youthful tree,
Kept far from both the frost and dew
Where plants felt agony. 

I was not pampered as a child,
But sheltered from the hate
That runs throughout a world gone wild
Like cracks creep ‘cross a plate. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t care;
I simply was naïve
That prejudice was even there
O’er color of a sleeve. 

And so it was, that I was blest
And at the same time, cursed.
Of prejudice – I passed the test.
At knowledge, I’d not nursed. 

No integration at my school;
I didn’t even know
That coal was still against the rule
E’en with the piles of snow.

And so the strangers came one day
As if a planet far
Had sent their messengers to say,
“May we live where you are?” 

It mattered not one whit to me;
Green was my greenhouse hue,
And under our glass canopy,
Weren’t all the new ones, too?


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


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Sheepdog And His Sheep

But proves to be the



I Love You

See the I?
Staring from love you –
Like an eye.



Fade The Black

The dark night
Has a thousand eyes.
Each, light one


Sheepdog – photo by Barun Patro at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mf6A37Q/Billiards+3

Love – photo by Marja Flick-Buijs at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ovFXsPa/Love+you+ilustration

Fade – photo by Michael and Christa Richert at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/ooFlFvU/colourful+candles


* 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/


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

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………………….The Tryst

Potato was deep in the dark under ground,
Tomato, above in the light.
The little Tomato was ruddy and round,
The little Potato was white. 

And redder and redder she rounded above,
And paler and paler he grew,
And neither suspected a mutual love
Till they met in a Brunswick stew.


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A picture
Of lines, lines, and lines –
Green, brown, clouds.


I see man
Drawing green and brown –
He’s land bound.


I must know
Who rode the sky, lined
The white clouds.


photo by Kevin Tuck at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nvdXLkC/Clouds+and+fields


* 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/

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



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