For a Singer
Death clogged this flute
At its highest note;
Song sleeps here mute
In this breathless throat.
This poem is in the public domain.
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Incident
Once riding in old Baltimore,
Heart-filled, head-filled with glee,
I saw a Baltimorean
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Heritage
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Strong bronzed men, or regal black
Women from whose loins I sprang
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Locked arm in arm they cross the way,
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