Those who find the sun in every sorrow
may yet cry thunderstorms when in their hiding.
Not rarely, who teaches hope can barely borrow
what it takes to make it through a day’s colliding,
that is why they talk so much of hope. Tomorrow
and today are both a moment in aligning;
joke is that the hawk-heart is a swallow
by night. Who hears the music also hears the sighing.
By night who sees light, by day so sees the harrow,
but never ruled by sun nor star as law abiding,
no, the bilious cloud that knows of sorrow
comes at its whim, as does its twin: the dove arising.
Be kind to us we singers of delight,
we sing because we sigh in day and night.
From my second poetry book, Funny.