In honor of black history,
These words must live.
The black man’s toils and struggles,
He can never outlive.
A fellow laborer in this life,
Has been the most occupied space.
The burdens of others lightly carried,
By this forsaken race.
Stumbling from the heavy yoke,
With steps deeply trodden by violent scars.
And having thoughts that were often hidden,
And dreams that never reached the stars.
An entire month of celebration,
Each day treasured with moments of glory.
But have we ever really discovered,
The truth and depths of His story.
Still working til’ the days end,
Just to provide for his own.
Watching the seed of the ground flourish,
And wishing the same for his own.
28 days in that month of the year,
Recognized by everyone in this land.
28 days of fame and honor,
Numbered like pebbles in the sand.
Will we remember the contributions?
Made by tireless efforts of these people.
Dark shadows close at the end of the day,
Time to look for the church steeple.