Alan HannenLange Poems

Come rain, come, fall; hailstorm, light at first, icy spherical, battering,
Then gravity-pulled, melted and stretched, cold as iron, each drop,
Countless as the mocking heathens of this vile post-Victorian world.
Thoughts; sit I, here on this trench stool, guarding, a solitary man;
...

Sad I wasn't born when the wind
and the snow blew in the blue of Winter.
Glassy bright, not even when the apples
On the trees grew the hue of red.
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Can I tell you how shy I am?
If I were but a simple fly,
- Though I wouldn't wish this to be true -
Rather than kiss a girl
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Although I be only a little girl
A sadness in my heart I felt
Although I be only a little girl.
...