To make a poet Black
What is Africa to me?
The rocking loom of history
Like walking out of shadow
If we must die
This man shall be remembered
A rock against the wind
Is she our sister?
Don't it make you want to cry?
Whose children are these?
They are all of me
Oh, singing tree!
Oh, my soul is in the whirlwind!
Dear lovely death
I dream a world.