Night Wind

Wind prowls through my house tonight
Restlessly, uneasily,
Like a lost soul seeking a place to lie–
To rest forever.
Stealthily he enters my room,
Moves a curtain,
Shakes each window
Separately, distinctly–
Lifts a paper from the table by my bed
And throws it in disgust upon the floor,
Where in the morning it will bear
Mute evidence to the prowler of the night.
He touches my face with ghostly fingers,
Clammy, yet incredibly gentle,
Then moans tiredly and moves on to other rooms,
Perhaps to other houses than mine,
— Still unsatisfied.

April 9, 1939


After the Storm

Oh, God and I had fun last night!
We had fireworks galore,
And every time I struck a match,
He made the heavens roar.

He had me leave my work and come
And sit out by the door,
And then He lit His largest bomb
And threw it on heaven’s floor.

The flash of lightning was so clear–
And oh! The noise it made!
“Oh Lord,” said I, “that one was near!”
He laughed and said, “Afraid?”

May 23, 1937


On the top of the hill
A dark cloud lingers–
Sinister, threatening–
Although the sun is still shining.
Slowly but surely,
The huge beast stalks its shining prey.
Suddenly it pounces.
The struggling sun reaches out
Long, slender arms, appealing
To the silent world for aid.
The timid earth cowers,
And for one dramatic moment
The cloud gloats over its conquest.
Then from the shapeless blot
Come two heavy drops.
The waiting leaves quiver with anticipation.
Quickly, with one bright flash,
One peal of thunder, loudly exultant–
The rain falls.
And trembling nature is relieved
To have the tension broken.

July 9, 1937

Clouds Hide the Moon

My nights with you were bright and fair,
Smoothly flowing as a tune;
But now I turn, and you’re not there,
For now clouds hide the moon.

Clouds hide the moon, and I am blue;
The nights are dark and drear;
But you’ll return, and when you do,
You’ll find me waiting here.

First moon, then clouds, tonight hold sway,
Like my life with you, my dear–
The dim, sad times when you’re away,
The bright ones when you’re near.

April 16, 1939

Pensive Day

Bare trees gently swaying
Against a pearl-gray sky–
Oh, what diverse emotions
Within my body lie!

I’m restless, and I’m peaceful,
And suddenly I’m blue,
And gloriously happy,
And discontented, too.

It must have been, I think,
On such gray, quiet days,
That Caesar planned his battles–
That Shakespeare wrote his plays.

February 13, 1938