This dream I have
Working at the library
Is deferred;
I have no place to go
That is valuable,
And my place of recompense
Is shot
And all the dead roses die in denial,
Yet my favorite flower is vigilant;
How dare you reap what you sow so early
When the birds have not yet chirped?
I see a sad tree
And it is also in denial,
What bitter love has taken haste?
For this promise is livid
I can tell
For this poor little black girl
Is bummed,
I cannot remember
The promise that you made;
For the promise that you made
Is simply simplified.
And what\'s in a book
That has no name?
Can a star realize its shine?
Can I grow without bearing resentment?
Is it all out of shame?
For I bear my name
And I bear it proud
But we couldn\'t be all friends
For I am yet set apart
And dearest to my heart
Is the breath of a page,
A page that cannot tell its worth--
And all you book lovers
Do not change for me,
For I am happy and free.
I am happy and free
In my own little world--
A world that has nothing to do
With society.