When the old junk man Death
Comes to gather up our bodies
And toss them into the sack of oblivion,
I wonder if he will find
The corpse of a white multi-millionaire
Worth more pennies of eternity,
Than the black torso of
A Negro cotton-picker.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like to juxtapose this poem with images from the Middle Ages of the Danse Macabre. One thing that I've always believed is that death does, indeed, level everyone. I think of the story of Lazarus and the Rich Man from the Bible, and how it isn't money, power, or color that helps you after death. It's whether you loved God and your neighbor as yourself.