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Sad, Daniel Whitehead Hicky, in English Clear filters

SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

So Late the Darkness

So late, so late the darkness trembled down when we were younger And dusk the color of purple and scented like wild sweet grapes Drifted across the meadows and over the eaves of the evening; So long the daylight lingered and we watched its bright escapes. We were children then and our books and our pencils were waiting Till we played at run sheep run, red light, and devil may care; We called out the scores and we laughed and we hid again in the hedges And we prayed to the God of our childhood that still there was gold in the air. We are older now, we are wiser; but wisdom can never repay us For the light we have lost from our hearts in the day that closes early;
SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

Woods in Winter

Bare-breasted now and unashamed the wood Stands cold as stone against the quiet hour. Small eyes of rabbits, sharp with hunger’s search, Kindle brown grasses where the wind has stood Half frozen through a night of motionless birch. The imminence of snow, pale flake on flake, Locked in a cloud withholds its shining power Which in a moment’s space may stir and break. Not till the snow is gone, the bladed cold, Shall I return to these stripped woods again; Walking through silence here I seem to move In measured quiet among a thousand men Lashed by the whips of life, broken and old, Lonely as all men are bereft of love.
SadDaniel Whitehead Hicky

The Trout Stream

On a day that was pink and yellow, Pink where the laurel grew, Dragging the stream with its blossoms, Shaking it off like dew Where the wind caught up its branches, On a day that was yellow with sun Gilding the foam going over The falls where the speckled trout run, I stood on the banks for an hour, My thoughts as cool as the fern As I saw a fisherman casting, As I watched him twist and turn Deep in the rushing of waters That carried the sun on its way Over the rocks and past the laurel, Bursting in golden spray.

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