I have a rendezvous with life.
We were not made to eternally weep.
The key to all strange things is in thy heart..../ My spirit has come home, that sailed the doubtful seas.
I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.
Whatever lives is granted breath But by the grace and sufferance of Death.
Yet do I marvel at this curious thing:/ To make a poet black, and bid him sing!