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Contemplative, Henrietta Clarke, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Dawn

In the Autumn dawn the city streets Are empty and quiet and bare, While across the way in the high stone pile, Lights come on here and there. The sky is soft with the crimson glow That one sees only at dawn; And below the streetlights are turned off, But the traffic lights shine on, Making two glowing color spots Like jewels of ruby and jade; Then traffic starts and very soon The jewel colors fade. Trucks pass in haste, a loud horn blares, Brakes grind as the lights turn red; Workmen with lunch cans rush along To the busy day ahead.
ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Resignation

The old tree was to be cut down; for years it had stood among its green neighbors conspicuous by its lack of verdure, with hoary moss on grey flanks, and thin scrawny arms swaying in the breeze. The smoke from the Autumn fire in the clearing passes in blue clouds over the low hills, as the old tree without sadness awaits its turn to kindle the hungry flames, knowing that its ashes will remain a part of the land, and give new life to others.
ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Unto the Hills

Through hazy morning mist the hills appear With promise of their grandeur and their strength, As though 'twas they who pushed the fog away Into the radiance of another day. At midday the translucent sky above Seemed like a painted scene, until at length White soft-spun clouds amassing high and deep Threw woodcut shadows down the mountain steep. And stronger still the giant hills stand forth When sunset's ruby glow alights the sky, In silhouette their greatness reappears As dark against the gold birds homeward fly.
ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Seasons

Trees of brown and red and yellow Flaunt their beauty beneath the skies, Verdure far on distant hillsides The thoughts of Autumn belies. One vivid splurge on a maple sapling Flashes vermilion surprisingly bright, Small but refulgent in sunset splendor It bursts upon our sight. To some heart that is crushed with loss and fear Autumn has come though Summer is here.
ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Trout Pool

Below a pastel-tinted sky The trout brook flowed Slowly over white pebbles. Farther upstream deeper pools beckoned Azure and cool. Steep mountain-sides patterned In brilliant maple and blue spruce Resembled a rich tapestry. The silence was broken only by the plunge Of a heavy fish, the humming swirl of a line Or the sharp staccato of bird calls.
ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Spring

Small rivulets make crooked paths across streets Recently covered with soiled snow, The vapor arising from the sorrel ground Exudes a steam of musty odors. Across the way with heavy stooping figure A foreign woman digs deftly Into the tenacious loam, Seeking a few edible roots So mindful of the savory relish Of her Homeland.
ContemplativeHenrietta Clarke

Two Nights

In a luminous night a crystal moon Cast its rays on a silver sea, They shimmer there like a limpid wing And beauty entrances me. But I remember a night of storm When the clouds rolled black on high; And the waters below were thick with foam While my answering voice was a sigh. Yet the shriek of the storm was the song of my heart, For my spirit leaped to its call, As a blinding flame of lightning flashed I was unified with it all. For youth rejoices in nature’s strife; In itself it’s akin to the beat Of her stirring passions, noise and stress. One who does not admit defeat.

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