i know why the caged bird sings…
I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you,and that you will work them, water them withyour blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom,till you yourself burst into bloom.
you’ve got to find yourself first…
lies we tell ourselves…
black march…
I have a freind
At the end
Of the world.
His name is a breathOf fresh air.
He is dressed in
Grey chiffon. At least
I think it is chiffon.
It has a
Peculiar look, like smoke.
It wraps him round
It blows out of place
It conceals him
I have not seen his face.But I have seen his eyes, they are
As pretty and bright
As raindrops on black twigs
In March, and heard him say:I am a breath
Of fresh air for you, a change
By and by.Black March I call him
Because of his eyes
Being like March raindrops
On black twigs.(Such a pretty time when the sky
Behind black twigs can be seen
Stretched out in one
Uninterrupted
Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.
— Stevie Smith —