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african american poetry

they ask me where i've been
no prey am i of poor thoughts
here lies a most beautiful lady
and with the humming bird
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
skies they were ashen and sober
rocked in the cradle of the deep
to come so soon to this imagined dark
the swan existing
all down the years
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
stuff of the moon

 



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