up too early

numbers are meaningless heat and cold
are what we feel and the wind's touch
be it harsh or soft can say quite as much
now what the stolid thermometer told
was that those who ventured out were bold
on this coldest of days yet as was known such
were the requirements that mad us clutch
our coats and run and feel our bodies old
this seems a mistake here where winter's mild
and january began with unseasonable spring
but now it ends somewhere below the norm
this should remind us that nature is wild
with energy her veins and vessels sing
and never fixed or steady is her form

spelman college winter

in the blue sky few clouds and those thin
the cold air shapes our coats into small flags
no soaring spirit on this bright day it sags
even as the billows make us seem to win
against the force that pushes us within
our small limits instead like empty bags
we flutter on the streets like wornout rags
in cheerful breeze we've taken it on the chin
now here's another world beyond the gate
grim redbrick academic not-quite-goth
it has all the power and presence that it needs
a testament to its good luck and fate
there's no need here for some gaudy cloth
instead there's energy bound in the seeds

unexpected success

if in the final pinch we turn to fight
and faces bloodied find that we have won
it does not seem like victory for none
of us recall just how the final might
was on our side although we're in the right
still it was on their side that the morning sun
was fairer their ranks were dressed and done
while we shambled and stumbled into the light
there isn't much that we could do or say
after such triumph with its taste of ash
but wonder how we came out of it so well
that at the end though tired we had the day
those who foretold it we deemed as rash
and thought that all our chances were in hell

they also serve

in the evening as the shadows turn to night
i sit and pause before the next big task
relax my face and for a moment slip the mask
looking to see that there's none to affright
i know in the mirror i must be a real sight
drooping after long hours and no small flask
to revive or madden me nor the chance to ask
for some relief some means to make all right
before the call of duty once more draws me out
to do the careful dance that earns the meagre pay
that's my allotment others might remark
that all in all i'd have some cause to shout
with joy not anger at the long workday
for in my way i'm holding back the dark