Black Dreadlocks Poem by Buxton Shippy

Black Dreadlocks
With his red
Green and gold
Twisting
Turning
Burning the collie
In the sun

His crown
Etches in the hill
His face
Covers with glory
And although the footsteps
Are far away
And his body is fixed
He can still
Feel the beat
As the people
Take to the streets
With their goatskin drums
Pounding and grinding

Black Dreadlocks
With his red
Green and gold
Twisting
Turning
Burning the collie
In the sun

It's a day to remember
When Black Dreadlocks
Becomes king