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african american poetry

it was many and many a year ago
last midnight
little gate was reached at last
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
with joy and wonder
i am the wind that wavers
by the rude bridge
the little white prayers
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
our pleasant moments fly
a mile behind
my soul is a dark ploughed field

 



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