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african american poetry

one sweetly solemn thought
the arches of the red bridge
within my hand i hold
the air is full of dawn and spring
i saw the clouds among the hills
when freedom from her mountain height
stern cold man
i make my shroud, but no one knows
when night drifts along the streets of the city
they in the darkness gather and ask
daughter, thou art come to die
could we but know

 



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