You Heard Me. You Ain't Blind.

The Morning Air Was Like A New Dress. That Made Her Feel The Apron Tied Around Her Waist. She Untied It And Flung It On A Low Bush Beside The Road And Walked On, Picking Flowers And Making A Bouquet… From Now On Until Death She Was Going To Have Flower Dust And Springtime Sprinkled Over Everything.

I Am Not Tragically Colored. There Is No Great Sorrow Dammed Up In My Soul, Nor Lurking Behind My Eyes. I Do Not Mind At All. I Do Not Belong To The Sobbing School Of Negrohood Who Hold That Nature Somehow Has Given Them A Lowdown Dirty Deal And Whose Feelings Are All Hurt About It. Even In The Helter-skelter Skirmish That Is My Life, I Have Seen That The World Is To The Strong Regardless Of A Little Pigmentation More Or Less. No, I Do Not Weep At The World—i Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

Oh To Be A Pear Tree – Any Tree In Bloom! With Kissing Bees Singing Of The Beginning Of The World!

She Was Stretched On Her Back Beneath The Pear Tree Soaking In The Alto Chant Of The Visiting Bees, The Gold Of The Sun And The Panting Breath Of The Breeze When The Inaudible Voice Of It All Came To Her. She Saw A Dust-bearing Bee Sink Into The Sanctum Of A Bloom; The Thousand Sister-calyxes Arch To Meet The Love Embrace And The Ecstatic Shiver Of The Tree From Root To Tiniest Branch Creaming In Every Blossom And Frothing With Delight.

Love, I Find, Is Like Singing. Everybody Can Do Enough To Satisfy Themselves, Though It May Not Impress The Neighbors As Being Very Much.