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african american poetry

this ancient silver bowl of mine
you are beautiful and faded
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
from our hidden places
beneath my window in a city street
some of the hurts you have cured
i never knew the earth had so much gold
i have seen the proudest stars
what do i owe to you
glooms of the live-oaks
listen
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes

 



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