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african american poetry

darkest, strangest mystery
long ago, in the young moonlight
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
the snow whispers about me
what do i owe to you
all those treasures that lie
musing, between the sunset and the dark
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
along the banks
what spiteful chance steals unawares
she said
thou unrelenting past

 



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