There's A Certain Amount Of Traveling In

These Feet Have Walked Ten Thousand Miles Working For White Folks And Another Ten Thousand Keeping Up With Colored.

The Rain Plays A Little Sleep Song On Our Roof At Night And I Love The Rain.

Oh, God Of Dust And Rainbows, Help Us To See That Without The Dust The Rainbow Would Not Be.

Gather Up In The Arms Of Your Love—those Who Expect No Love From Above.

Hang Yourself, Poet, In Your Own Words. Otherwise, You Are Dead.