teen poetry contest

i make my shroud, but no one knows
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
there are gains for all our losses
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
night was black and drear
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
the body may confine
i cannot always feel his greatness
why do
up from the meadows rich with corn
out of the deep and the dark
she heard the children playing in the sun