growing up

this is red earth we can't remove the stain
no matter time spent on the washing board
our solemn purpose goes against the grain

of what we wanted remade or restored
by concrete action after rapid thought
since there's so much that we cannot afford

unless by our own efforts it's been wrought
before the coming of the hoped-for storm
that consummation which we have long sought

but to the tale the truth is there's no form
in which we can present the honest case
that does not quickly move far from the norm

we seek the recognition in each face
to let us know that we have made it safe
into the country of our dwelling place

against so many bonds we have to chafe
to find ourselves at the start of the road
with better hope than has the homeless waif

who too soon finds she cannot read the code
although it's written in an ink so black
that any who could reach a sure abode

would hope that none could see the path or track
nor be led onward by a clever nose
since it is never easy to turn back

once you have set upon the way of those
who give you hope that you can play a rôle
that sets you higher than your erstwhile foes

in early morning you won't see a soul
who has no purpose just like yours to keep
and isn't aiming at a similar goal

the ones who pose the greatest danger sleep
and only you are left to walk so far
and venture into oceans as deep

and into countries that are as bizarre
as any that are dreamt by those that smoke
from the green pipe or use the fat cigar

but that hard purpose serves as a mere cloak
over the shape of hopes that no undue
choices will lead to renewal of yoke

upon the one who merely seeks to view
the many realms that come from joyful art
old as mankind but each life will renew

the hope that's proper to each human heart
and keeps it light and ready still to glow
when each of us will play our honest part

in doing more than putting on a show
that will reward most at the start of night
and thus ensure that each who plays may go

forward with certainty into the light