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Posts Tagged ‘race’

For all time, and in every place,
In every nation, every race,
To wed was man and woman’s place.

Just where is marriage now defined? –
Except in whate’er comes to mind
From whate’er lusts that will men blind.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The white-tailed deer I feed seem mostly gray,
Though nothing makes my mind to think that way
Until one comes along of diff’rent shade
And side by side comparison is made. 

Once-spotted summer-born, now autumn fawn
That in these last few weeks has crossed my lawn
Is diff’rent from the rest in brass and hue.
Like first-sight love, I saw her shade and knew. 

She sometimes come to feed without her doe.
That’s so unlike the others that I know,
For nature births a fawn with legs that fear
And take to flight instead of coming near. 

By what I first exclaimed, she’s now addressed.
Brown Baby is thus diff’rent from the rest.
I do not love her less because of that,
Or more as if her hue’s a thermostat. 

If all my deer were brown I would not mind
For white tails, warm, soft eyes would be their kind.
And if no brown one ever came my way,
It would not matter if they all were gray.

What matters is that they would be my friend
And not turn tail and run away as wind,
And that they do not war as neighbors war.
One’s color is not cause to love them more.

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The photo is mine. Brown Baby is the fawn in
the upper left.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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I am a greenhouse plant that grew
From seed to youthful tree,
Kept far from both the frost and dew
Where plants felt agony. 

I was not pampered as a child,
But sheltered from the hate
That runs throughout a world gone wild
Like cracks creep ‘cross a plate. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t care;
I simply was naïve
That prejudice was even there
O’er color of a sleeve. 

And so it was, that I was blest
And at the same time, cursed.
Of prejudice – I passed the test.
At knowledge, I’d not nursed. 

No integration at my school;
I didn’t even know
That coal was still against the rule
E’en with the piles of snow.
 

And so the strangers came one day
As if a planet far
Had sent their messengers to say,
“May we live where you are?” 

It mattered not one whit to me;
Green was my greenhouse hue,
And under our glass canopy,
Weren’t all the new ones, too?


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

 

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She told the story, and the whole world wept
At wrongs and cruelties it had not known
But for this fearless woman’s voice alone.
She spoke to consciences that long had slept:
Her message, Freedom’s clear reveille, swept
From heedless hovel to complacent throne.
Command and prophecy were in the tone
And from its sheath the sword of justice leapt.
Around two peoples swelled a fiery wave,
But both came forth transfigured from the flame.
Blest be the hand that dared be strong to save,
And blest be she who in our weakness came –
Prophet and priestess! At one stroke she gave
A race to freedom and herself to fame.

 

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