James Madison University - Bluestone Schoolmaam Yearbook (Harrisonburg, VA)

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And It Was Called Day Morning sits quietly, somberly. Rut wide-awake. Beside a dark pool in the woods. Watching wet dragon flies Dry themselves. Water lilies W ake and smile up at her. A soft, playful breeze Ruffles her hair and dress As she smiles back at the lilies. Noon lolls lazily, sleepily At the foot of a hay-cock. And yawns as he shoves The heel of his boot Into the roots of the hay-stubble. The clouds overhead Are like huge pirate-ships. Rut he is too droivsy to go adventuring. Resides, the sun is too bright — It hurts his eyes to look up. Dusk trudges slowly, wearily Up the well-worn path — The implements of his days work Across his shoulder. The gray dust From the fields and hay sifts off him. He reaches home and stands on his threshold, Gazing back across his fields. Seeing all, yet only half. Throwing down his tools, he settles Himself with his pipe, and draws Across his weary shoulders A dark, worn, old coat — For it has grown cool. — Sarah Dutrow