Let The Rain Kiss You. Let The

I'm So Tired Of Waiting, Aren't You, For The World To Become Good And Beautiful And Kind?

For My Best Poems Were All Written When I Felt The Worst. When I Was Happy, I Didn't Write Anything.

I’s Been Livin’ A Long Time In Yesterday, Sandy Chile, An’ I Knows There Ain’t No Room In De World Fo’ Nothin’ Mo’n Love. I Know, Chile! Ever’thing There Is But Lovin’ Leaves A Rust On Yo’ Soul. An’ To Love Sho ‘nough, You Got To Have A Spot In Yo’ Heart Fo’ Ever’body – Great An’ Small, White An’ Black, An’ Them What’s Good An’ Them What’s Evil – ‘cause Love Ain’t Got No Crowded-out Places Where De Good Ones Stay An’ De Bad Ones Can’t Come In. When It Gets That Way, Then It Ain’t Love.

Through My Grandmother's Stories Always Life Moved, Moved Heroically Toward An End. Nobody Ever Cried In My Grandmother's Stories. They Worked, Or Schemed, Or Fought. But No Crying. When My Grandmother Died, I Didn't Cry, Either. Something About My Grandmother's Stories (without Her Ever Having Said So) Taught Me The Uselessness Of Crying About Anything."

These Feet Have Walked Ten Thousand Miles Working For White Folks And Another Ten Thousand Keeping Up With Colored.