We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan, Grayed in, and gray. - Gwendolyn Brooks

If thou be more than hate or atmosphere
Step forth in splendor, mortify our wolves.
Or we assume a sovereignty ourselves.

Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.

Since a man must bring
To music what his mother spanked him for
When he was two: bits of forgotten hate,
Devotion: whether or not his mattress hurts:
The little dream his father humored: the thing
His sister did for money: what he ate
For breakfast — and for dinner twenty years
Ago last autumn: all his skipped desserts.