Andrew Dawes

I slip beneath a sagging willow

Sweat drains away my strength and will, oh

Break has begun but now the work begins.

The root of my distress is well-known

The fruit of my hard labor's unknown

Straining [grasping] for answers I search among the leaves.

Some boughs are kept in senseless shadow

Reminding me of my short life's woe

Never have I been favored with kind light.

But other branches sport their


Light sun gives they catch and keep and make their own
They do not mourn or wait for better light
But take what each moment the sun gives