Along the shore the tall thin grass, <br />That fringes that dark river, <br />While sinuously soft feet pass <br />Beings to bleed and quiver. <br /> <br />The great dark voice breaks with a sob <br />Across the womb of night; <br />Above your grave, the tom-toms throb <br />And the hills are weird with light. <br /> <br />The great dark beast is like a well <br />Drained bitter by the sky, <br />And all the honeyed lies they tell <br />Come there to thirst and die. <br /> <br />No lie is strong enough to kill <br />The roots that work below, <br />From your rich dust and slaughtered will <br />A tree with tongues shall grow.<br /><br />Countee Cullen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-memory-of-col-charles-young/
