We Shall Not Always Plant While Others

Dame Poverty Gave Me My Name, And Pain Godfathered Me.

The Loss Of Love Is A Terrible Thing; They Lie Who Say That Death Is Worse.

Ever At Thy Glowing Altar Must My Heart Grow Sick And Falter, Wishing He I Served Were Black.

My Poetry Has Become The Way Of My Giving Out What Music Is Within Me.

Not For Myself I Make This Prayer, But For This Race Of Mine That Stretches Forth From Shadowed Places Dark Hands For Bread And Wine.