Hope for wearied eye
By Sarah Ogle
petals pale and folded tight,
leaving hope for wearied eye,
all in Spring’s good time to bloom.
the gaze did stay ‘midst the light
through bleeding heart and many tries,
all to find one day she grew.
By Ginna Baker
Frozen before my time,
I stand stock still
As the grass stiffens with frost,
The wind’s tune changing
To a high, whistling moan.
My heart echoes its sadness.
Time moves, spins the world;
Its hand circumscribes my hall clock.
A plane waits for me on the runway,
The intercom calling my name.
But here I stand, loading plate,
Cup, knife, spoon, into slots;
Sleeping, working, eating, praying,
This first September away from school.
The fall chimes clang a welcome,
My friends laugh at the squirrels
My world leaves me behind.
Again I wash the forks,
Standing stock still,
Feeling the Earth move.