(by Benjamin Clementine)
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a black American man.
A black American man whose angry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;
A black American man that looks at God all day,
And lifts their bony arms to pray;
A black American man that may in summer wear
A nest of golden necklace around his neck;
Upon whose bosom some white men will slay;
Who intimately lives with pain.
Poems are made by fools like this lad,
But only God can make a black American man.