Only in the Night

She is the keeper of my dream,

The one, the only one

Whose sandaled feet along the drift

The tides of time outrun.

Her scarves flow back upon the wind,

Her hands reach out for me,

In her clutch the precious thing

She rescued from the sea.

Sometimes I hear a haunting voice

Arising in the mist.

Or is it but the murmuring

Of echoes that persist?

Whither does she go and why

In far precarious flight?

The gods can only answer that

And only in the night.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)

Cactus Glory

Where one malingering star looked on

I watched the kindling of a dawn

On hills so far they seemed to be

An outpost of infinity.

I gazed across the wastes of sand

To wonder why so vast a land

Would be despoiled of any trace

Of grass or tree or garden place.

But when the morning high

I thought I saw the reason why

In blossoms so divinely fair

They flashed like jewels on the air.

Was I a witness on this day

To Nature's quite fantactic way

Of staking off a lavish claim . . .

A desert in a flower's name?

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)

Alarm Clock

I am tired and weary this morning;

I am weary and tired today.

I would like to go on with my slumber,

I would like to keep pounding the hay.

You say that my plaint is redundant?

I'm repeating myself, you aver?

It's this doggone alarm clock that's done it,

This dread tautological brr. . .

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)

Boy Meets Girl

Stand here for a little time

And talk to me.

I am lonely tonight,

Lonely as a girl can be.

I have on a pretty gown,

Don't you think?

Do you like ruffles on a dress?

Do you like pink?

Please do not leave me now!

I would ask you in,

But modeling in a window

Dooms a mannequin.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)

Fly Away Robin!

A scornful robin in a tree

Looks down at me.

What does it think?

Am I a wingless bobolink,

Banned from the sky,

No path to the sun

Where clouds roll by?

No song of hope

At the flash of dawn?

No shield from hate

Where wars go on?

Fly away, robin, fly . . . fly!

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)

Slain Hollyhock

In torn and tattered autumn frock,

There lingered one lone hollyhock,

Three wilted blooms on riven stalk.

About the yard it seemed to stare

While all the other flowres fair,

Looked scornfully from everywhere.

These other flowers bright and gay

Were in their festive fall array,

Dressed for the party, so to say.

I listened as there came to me,

Soft as the drone of honey bee,

A murmur of conspiracy.

A hateful wind had heard the call

And came across the garden wall

To plot the stately flower's fall.

Next morning when I made the round,

A waste of beauty there I found;

Slain hollyhock upon the ground.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)

The Sidewalk Scene

All the world's joys

All the world's woes

Are in transit today

Where the foot traffic goes.

Stand for a moment,

Behold the parade

In shuttling passage;

See every facade

Of mortal anxiety

Mirrored in mass.

Hear the shuffle and stride

As they zigzag and pass.

This sidewalk humanity

Makes you aware

They have one thing in common:

They're going somewhere!

But the riddle remains

To encumber your mind:

Where are they going

And what will they find

At the end of the errance,

The end of the street?

Ah, the secret is theirs,

In whatever retreat,

When they take off their shoes

To relax their poor feet.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)