He came in silvern armour, trimmed with black-A lover come from legends long ago-With silver spurs and silken plumes a-blow,
And flashing sword caught fast and buckled back In a craven sheath of Tamarack.
He came with footsteps beautifully slow, And spoke in voice meticulously low.
He came and romance followed his track….
I did not ask his name-I thought him Love; I did not care to see his hidden face.
All life seemed born in my intaken breath; All thought seemed flown like some forgotten dove.
Whose children are these? Who do these children belong to?
With no power to look over,
He look at them sleeping,
Exhaustion overwhelming hunger, barely
Protect with burlap from the cold
Cabin. Fear and rage make him tremble
For them; for himself, shame
That he can do no more
Than die for them
For no certain purpose. He heard
About a woman, Margaret garner,
In spite of the white folks’ silence.
How she killed two
Of hers to keep them from being taken
Back; killed herself
After the others were taken back
Anyway. So she saved
Two.
