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african american poetry

good woman
beautiful
love me at last, or if you will not
as i lie roofed in, screened in
one sweetly solemn thought
is there anybody there
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
risen from the dead
with the sunset
high walls and huge
the meadow was creeping
of sun nor stars
brief on a flying night

 



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