[two untitled poems by Adrienne Young]
The Rain Within ....
Limp and wilted, hanging leaves, defeated
By tilting, pelting drops.
Nature hangs ashamed and unprotected until it stops.
Sluggy, shuffling, rainswept people;
'draggled, drenched, without, within.
The sodden feeling penetrates more further than the skin.
The everlasting wet rain, dry rain, driving, bending into the Mind. It finds like piercing needles, maggot sleet the feeling, spirit, the soul, ambition, conscience, guilt: and it kills.
Adrienne Young 1965
Will He consider the bush on the hill
The mountains the meadows, the sea?
Will He remember each factory and mill
Do you think he'll consider me?
Will He consider each babe and each child
The ill decrepit, distressed?
Will He remember all those reconciled
Or does He only consider the blest?
Will He consider all those near to death
With all who are happy and free?
All who are nearing their dying breath
Oh Lord! Please consider me!