The Gift to Sing -by James Weldon Johnson
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Sometimes the mist overhangs my path, And blackening clouds about me cling; But, oh, I have a magic way To turn the gloom to cheerful…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Sometimes the mist overhangs my path, And blackening clouds about me cling; But, oh, I have a magic way To turn the gloom to cheerful…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]At midnight, when suddenly you hear an invisible procession going by with exquisite music, voices, don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now, work gone wrong,…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Bird is building a metropolis with his horn. Here are the gates of Babylon, the walls of Jericho cast down. Might die in Chicago, Kansas…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, And round the pebbly beaches far and wide I heard the first wave of the rising tide…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]past parentage or gender beyond sung vocables the slipped-between the so infinitesimal fault line a limitless interiority beyond the woven unicorn the maiden (man-carved worm-eaten)…
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]Does exile begin at birth? I lived beside a wide river For so long I stopped hearing it. As when a glass shatters during an…