Epic in the Morning – 1942

(probably 1942)

EPIC IN THE MORNING

 part one

I sit here on my chair all day
(Some call it work, some call it play)
And wait for things to do.
Until the safe has been unlocked
United’s work is really blocked,
And so, I think of you.

Another day has rolled around—
Another poem to write.
The rain is falling on the ground—
I hope it stops by night.
Although it makes a lovely sound,
It is a dreary sight.

Today my mind is full of thoughts;
The words roll off my pen;
The drizzly rain I count as naught—
The sun will shine, and then
I’ll view the wonders God hath wrought
Ant think of you again.

Of all the things we used to do
And all the fun and joy we knew,
And how the hours swiftly flew.
Though we’re apart, I’ll never rue
The things we did, just me and you,
When skies were gray—when skies were blue.
You were my all—you were my clue
To happiness. Out plans we drew,
And in our dreams our garden grew,
Our house was built with wood and blue.
And then, alas, we said adieu—
I walked away in worn out shoe,
You took the train that said choo, choo—
It seemed as though our dreams were through.
I wandered far, and did you too?
From Antioch to Timbuctoo
I’d mope along the avenue.
The birds might sing, the doves might coo—
My bitter path with tears I’d strew.
If I’d eat steak—’twould taste like stew;
The finest wine—a witches brew.

Another day—again the sun’s not rose—
Another week is drawing to a close.
Today at noon I leave this office drear;
Tonight at school I’ll suddenly appear
If all goes well, and drivers kindly be.
Div dance tonight, and that’s the place for me.

Farewell to all the wordly cares,
Tonight I dance—let he who dares
Recall me to reality.
In sweetest music swiftly lost,
In gliding steps I’ll be engrossed.
Ah, that is just the life for me.

There I can drift in aimless dream—
Gone is trouble, gone is strife—
Who cares what is the cosmic scheme?
Here is rapture, here is life.

 
 
 

part two

Ah wanderlust, that spurs me on and on to far off places,
What woulds’t thou with me now? Instruct me what thy grace is.
New York, Chicago, Cleveland—all have welcomed me with gladness—
Alliance, Dayton, Cincy, Antioch—’tis almost madness.

But do I stop? No, I go on with e’er increasing vigor
And plan them all again, with others, larger, greater, bigger.
What am I looking for in all this wild insane endeavor?
What drives my footsteps on thru rainy, stormy, sunny weather?

I do not know the cause,
I do not know the reason.
Can it be spring?
(That is the restless season).

Perhaps. Or is it love
That strange and unknown force
That ever drives me on?
Oh tell me stars above—
Oh moon from out your course,
How is the journey won?

I know not what I seek
Oh haunting spirits speak,
That knowing I may find,
And finding may enjoy
The sweets that never cloy,
And leave all care behind.

 
 
 

epilogue

A month has passed since first I wrote
These heart-felt lines of verse.
Five weeks gone by—but who can tell
For better or for worse.

And now, alas, I’ll write no more.
Events have stilled my pen.
And so, farewell, inspiring muse—
Someday we’ll meet again.

But now goodbye, for to my work
Is added one more thing,
Not arduous itself, but still
It makes my blood to sting.

Gone is my last excuse to loaf,
No other can I blame
For opening not the sacred safe—
The duty’s mime to claim.

But as I twist the dial around,
I still will think of you.
And now I work—and whisper soft,
“So long”, but not “adieu”.

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