I.
A glimm'ring rainbow greets a saint
   flown that frigid morn.
Heaven's gained another darling
   but Earth's adoring hearts are torn.

II.
Upon the solemn school descends a bitter pall;
   sadness skulks about the classrooms
   and drifts about each hall.
Carpets, desks, paper, tests
   are marked by tears that freely fall.

Earth drinks;
sky weeps;
      a misty shroud is spread
      o'er immortal Sol who sleeps.

my day is naught but toil,
   my night is naught but strife.
in my sleep i turn and toss
   whilst a dream reflects my life.

why then does a smile chase these lips
   and a twinkle tease these eyes?
are my furrowed brow and fists a-clenched
   contentment in disguise?

Joy intrudes on every bitter moment;
   joy heals wrathful thoughts and wounded ken;
   joy thrusts forget on all my hurt
   and joy gifts vigor to my pen.

O God, your chronic cheer may end,
   see, your joy is hampered so.
your servant, i, will stretch it farther,
   where it wills to break i cannot know.

1

What faith remains today
   that isn't locked inside
   the muted minds of flagging few
   to languish and reside?

Is there goodness to be reaped,
   by human hands untarnished,
   1  when HARM and MONeY grace the glutton's table,
    by lies and discord garnished;
   2  when greed spangles spotless hearts
   3  and lust commands their every whim;
   4  when envy robs their neighbor
   5  and sloth denies them vim;
   6  when wrath clouds their waning reason
   7  that's by pride already dim?

2

Oh say, can't you see that Uncle Sam's a-slumber?

He's dreaming the dream that built big cities
   and put a chicken in each ***,
   the dream that left the people wond'ring
   at what their silent god had wrought.

3

Oh say, can't you see that Uncle Sam's asleep?
He's drifted off to the American dream
   and not by counting sheep.

Sing to me, sing to me night,
   for I hark!
The cry of the owl,
   the hail of the lark;
   the kiss of the wind
   from blackness so stark;

Sing to me, sing,
   cheers of the dark.

Speak to me, speak to me
   'fore morn bereaves
   the rustling footsteps
   from dances of leaves
   as twinkling stars peek
   through high forest eaves

Speak to me, speak
   as night the moon cleaves.

Deep fried asphalt crawls beneath my wheels as I pedal on, pursued by buzzing flies
   and salty drops of sunscreen sweat sting my squinting eyes.

Caffeine coursing through my corporal chassis fuels my weary legs
   and mutes the screaming mind that wants the same respite for which my human vessel begs.

Be the road before me treacherous, the hills before me steep,
   God heals my aching body every night with fitful sleep.

the strain of labor
the pain of toil
the ache of legs and arms
the sweating brow
drudging farmer curse the soil
mutely chide the milkless cow

the demon waits for no man.
he rages forth
renders furrows charred
the fields so dry
the rocky ground so hard