To the Weary Self - A Poem (From "Four Folded Corners")

It's not over
although you're tired
and your bones conspire
to retire
      rise

Even when
they cheat you
work furiously to defeat you
refuse to meet you -- even halfway
     rise

There'll come an hour
if you stand and do not sour
when you shall reclaim your power
ten-fold -- I bid you,
    rise.



By Mary E. Lohan