Читать книгу The Last Poets - Christine Otten - Страница 10

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This was always, and remains

a foreign land. And we are

undoubtedly, the slaves.

There is some music, that shd come on now

With space for human drama, there shd be some memory

that leaves you smiling. That is, night and the way

Her lovely hand, extended. The Star, the star, all night

We loved it

Like ourselves.