Daniel Whitehead Hicky

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Poems

Summer Shall Come Again

Summer shall come again, her slender rose Lend its bright ruby to the wind’s blue hand, And over meadows where the clover blows Bronze orchestras of bees awake the land. Small streams shall speak their music to the sun And in the green cathedrals of the trees The robins stare at summer till summer is done And all her splendor ravels to memories. Summer shall come again, and in due time, But in my heart no more her sun will climb Nor any flower unfold its miracle, For she is gone whose laughter was a bell, Whose love made bread and wine of every stone And kindled stars and moons when there were none.

Daniel Whitehead Hicky

The Trees Must Go

The trees must go, they said, to bring a view Of distant mountains to the hilltop’s brow. First one by one they fell, then two by two. Though that was years ago, I see them now Swaying against a startled patch of sky, In long green sighs going down upon the earth, Shaking the sunlight from their leaves, the cry Of sparrows that woke the morning with their mirth. The view is nice, they say; it reaches clear Across the valley and brings the mountains near And the young breath of spring lifts cool and clean. But when I look beyond the hilltop there, I see a million leaves that might have been, And hear their little thunder, warm and green.

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