Those Winter Sundays (Robert Hayden Poem)
Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, then with cracked hands ...
Sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueback cold, then with cracked hands ...
(And I, I am no longer of that world) Naked, he lies in the blinded room chainsmoking, cradled by drugs, ...
When it is finally ours, this freedom, this liberty, this beautiful and terrible thing, needful to man as air, usable ...
I Jesús, Estrella, Esperanza, Mercy: Sails flashing to the wind like weapons, sharks following the moans the fever and the ...
Today as the news from Selma and Saigon poisons the air like fallout, I come again to see the serene, ...
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