#AmericanWriters
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Remember The days of bondage— And remembering— Do not stand still. Go to the highest hill
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
I take my dreams and make of them… and a round fountain with a beauti… And a song with a broken heart and… Do you understand my dreams? Sometimes you say you do,
I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered!
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.