in the pre-dawn cold

the towers glow gold in the cold dark
beneath the shadows move no fear
lies on them but we feel the care
that will each face with horror mark
the movement in the unlit city park
unmoving light in that space there
what we see the rapid figures wear
in every heart the silent human spark
so here and now we ask for urgent peace
indifferent sky gives us no clear reply
we rush but none comes by to aid
the sunrise will make all tremors cease
day's steady glow must banish the lie
and every shade will from memory fade

one step closer

under the cloud nothing seems truly clear
what moves in day has trouble staying warm
to make a choice requires that we must care

some things are easy to hold close and dear
others seem far from the substantive norm
under the cloud nothing seems truly clear

what counts this day we cannot simply hear
we have to touch and shape its tender form
to make a choice requires that we must care

just how to do it needs some sort of flair
we change our purpose but we do not reform
under the cloud nothing seems truly clear

the drums are beat the trumpets loudly blare
the mass of people seems to be a swarm
to make a choice requires that we must care

the outcome we desire hangs by a hair
beyond our strength the power of the storm
under the cloud nothing seems truly clear
to make a choice requires that we must care

travel teaches something

names on the map are magic but they lie
these are ordinary places just as plain
as where we come from the same rain
sun and cloud the same bright blue sky
the same dark birds in the same air fly
the same plain folk facing the same strain
the same sense and the same lack of brain
all places blur into each other by and by
yet there's still magic we still sense a force
different in different places a kind of power
that we must travel to find it's never here
but always somewhere other on our course
it comes always at some uncanny hour
and we cannot confront it without some fear

cruelest sweet showers

we're told the month is cruel and we know
it contains more than what we might believe
it comforts and brightens only to deceive
and what we're given is no more than a show
still as old winter gives us its last blow
there are more things in april that conceive
we'll learn them all before we're forced to leave
and when it wants the sun will kindly glow
but cruel this month is and falsely kind
to give us flowers and follow them with frost
but still the green persists and all our hope
we recall when the first blossoms filled the mind
we know that for our joy there'll be a cost
but still the year is on its upward slope