Black as the tip of a monarch's wing,
Black as the raven and crow,
Blacker than sunflowers’ centers, I know,
Black as coal against snow—
Black is the skin of African kings.
Brown is the cross where the Savior died:
Brown as earth which grows our food;
Browner still than a certain quiet mood;
Brown as log cabin, rude—
Brown as a tree trunk, strong and wide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem