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african american poetry

the poets tell
have we no shame?
in the cloud-gray mornings
if i should die, think only this of me
be not false
there was a strangeness on your lips
give me
i made a vow once, one only
with the meek, brown eyes
were it not for that singular smell
it was the autumn of the year
you are my companion
if the red slayer think he slays
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room

 



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