Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.

Like a welcome summer rain, humor may suddenly cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you.

Road's in front o' me, Nothin' to do but walk.

Money and art are far apart.

But there are certain very practical things American Negro writers can do. And must do. There's a song that says, "the time ain't long." That song is right. Something has got to change in America-and change soon. We must help that change to come.

Americans of good-will, the nice decent church people, the well-meaning liberals, the good hearted souls who themselves wouldn't lynch anyone, must begin to realize that they have to be more than passively good-hearted, more than church goingly Christian, and much more than word-of-mouth in the liberalism.