Dawn
Dawn for the rich, the artistic and the wise,
Is beauty splashed on canvas of the skies,
The brushes being the clouds that float the blue,
Dipped in the breeze for paint, and washed by dew.
But dawn to those who bathe the night in tears,
Squeeze sustenance from hard unyielding years,
Is full of strange imaginings and fears.
The dawn renews the terror of the day
Where harassing uncertainties hold sway;
And pain held in surcease through brief hours of rest
Roars up its head in its unceasing quest
To wear out body, brain and mind and soul
Till death is a resolve, and death a goal.
For those life holds no beauty, dawn no light,
For day is hopeless, dawn is struck with blight.
poem by Gladys Casely-Hayford
Added by Dan Costinaş
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