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african american poetry

who will be naming the wind
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
blossoms of babies
out of me unworthy and unknown
and breaketh bread no more
and my name is truthful
he'd even have his joke
when you come tonight
give me hunger
night is dark, and the winter winds
all down the years
i go my way complacently
for truth, for love

 



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