The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,

We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.

From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur

been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done

When Susanna Jones wears red her face is like an ancient cameo Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumphets, J… When Susanna Jones wears red

To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening

Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…

When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left