Love's Lonely Offices

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden

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 room 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 I did know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

I genuinely hate school. It's such a stupid commitment that I'm forcing myself to make so this blog doesn't have to be the only way I'm able to allow myself to write as a creative outlet. I love writing and really would love to do it professionally one day.

Anyways, one thing that I happen to actually appreciate about school at the moment has to be the fact that my English Composition 2 class is really based around a lovely book of a great literature collection.  This poem, along with so many others, has really allowed me to stop and take a look at my life and my attitude.

Love is such a lonely office! I am kind of a bitch at heart, feeling as if I do so many things for other people and am never thanked for them.  This poem kind of gave me hope in the fact that people usually realize how they are being treated once it's too late.  It reminds me that, someday, I actually might be verbally thanked or even rewarded for how I go out of my way to help others out.

On the other hand, it helped me realize that if I expect to be thanked, I should also remember to thank others for what they have done for me. Glad I'm learning more than just literature in my class. I'm learning how to be an even better person.