Claude McKay


December, 1919


Last night I heard your voice, mother,
The words you sang to me
When I, a little barefoot boy,
Knelt down against your knee.

And tears gushed from my heart, mother,
And passed beyond its wall,
But though the fountain reached my throat
The drops refused to fall.

íTis ten years since you died, mother,
Just ten dark years of pain,
And oh, I only wish that I
Could weep just once again.






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