May 20, 1994|By H.B. Johnson Jr.

Perfect it is:

all wrinkled and red.

Grows up to be black,

grows up to be white,

grows up to be angry

because we've left it no room

to be itself,

no room at all

to be its perfect self.

So, with your gratitude

you've left it to grow up alone,

fearing abuse less than death.

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