Poem by Countee Cullen

The Unknown Color

I've often heard my mother say,
When great winds blew across the day,
And, cuddled close and out of sight,
The young pigs squealed with sudden fright
Like something speared or javelined,
"Poor little pigs, they see the wind."

1. In Memory of Col. Charles Young
2. Uncle Jim
3. To a Brown Boy
4. Under the Mistletoe
5. Harlem Wine

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