We Were Not Made To Eternally Weep.

I Have A Rendezvous With Life.

Death Cut The Strings That Gave Me Life, And Handed Me To Sorrow, The Only Kind Of Middle Wife My Folks Could Beg Or Borrow.

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

All Day Long And All Night Through, One Thing Only Must I Do: Quench My Pride And Cool My Blood, Lest I Perish In The Flood.

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