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african american poetry

weak-winged is song
all down the years
were it not for that singular smell
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
i go my way complacently
one sweetly solemn thought
my true love from her pillow rose
when the wind works against us in the dark
listen
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
i am old and blind
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
i am in love with high far-seeing places

 



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