Lee Evans

One fails to picture her as fast asleep;
Perhaps at rest, but ready even then
To spring up from her bed and whirl and leap,
Upon the mission of the hour intent.

She runs to post the mail and spread the word
To raise cash to a charitable sum
Marked red on a cardboard thermometer—
A worthy cause for which to beat the drum.

To offer her some peace of mind is vain
As trying to converse with one who speaks
While leaning out the window of a train
That leaves you at the station for a week.

She presses on, toward the one deadline
Mortality ensures she will achieve—
While steadily the dollars’ rising tide
Ascends the graph that measures her good deeds.