A lone, black man
walks home
late Christmas Eve.
The streets empty,
except for snow.
Jazz on his mind
warms his soul.
Snow dusting his smooth,
brown skin.
He's not afraid,
but rushes home to his family.
Quiet night,
warm beats of jazz.
He steps
closes his eyes
and goes home.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
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1 comment:
His heart is producing one beautiful melody there with the jazz. I feel as if all is right with the world in this one.
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