Countee Cullen (Каунти Каллен)

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. Under the Mistletoe
3. To a Brown Boy
4. Harlem Wine
5. The Wise

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1733

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