Dawn by Gladys May Casely-Hayford

Dawn for the rich, the artistic and the
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
Squeeze sustenance from hard unyielding
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
For day is hopeless, dawn is struck with

-Gladys May Casely-Hayford

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