-Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.

Sunday, January 13, 2013


Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

Robert Hayden is an unknown or undervalued poet to most readers today, but every reader should be intimately familiar with this magnificent poem. "Those Winter Sundays" illustrates how a single poem can make a poet immortal. I may never remember another poem by Hayden, but I will certainly never forget this one.

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