poem that serves as narration to Double Concerto for Trumpet and Marimba
composed using quotations of Rachel Flowers, and excerpts of mandatory readings of the Messiah Bible School at the time of her study
I.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
To-day we love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek what to-morrow we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear, nay, even tremble at the apprehensions of.
On the contrary, the best interest of the American children is served under the efficient teacher, irrespective of race or color.
Assuming that one will practice in one’s own life what one preaches to others….
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
and in these hurries of my soul I knew not what my tongue might express
The spring drives out the winter…
tender is the night,
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration, dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Cooperation, to the extent that we will fight for the rights that belong to us as American citizens, but which are denied us because of color.
The old proverb, “Strike while the iron is hot,” is as full of truth today as in the days of old.
II.
Sometimes it began snowing the early part of November and we didn’t see the ground again, until the early April rains came and washed the snow, ice, etc. away.
With these considerations, I walked very leisurely forward. I found that side of the island where I now was much pleasanter than mine—the open or savannah fields sweet, adorned with flowers and grass, and full of very fine woods.
It meant so much, because I love flowers
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
I read the verse with tears.
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration, dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
In 1910 literacy among the Black population was calculated as 69.5 percent: the figure for 1930 was 90 percent.
Therefore did my heart rejoice, and my tongue was glad; moreover also my flesh shall rest in hope:
To-day we love what to-morrow we hate;
Ev’ry sorrow or care in the dear days gone by,
Assuming that one will practice what one preaches to others….
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Thou of life the fountain art, freely let me take of thee
Was made bright by the light of the smile in your eye.
Come, let us be happy.
III.
and in these hurries of my soul I knew not what my tongue might express
We gaze after the smoke as it rises
On the contrary, the best interest of the American children is served under the efficient teacher,
But the heart is unchang’d by time.
How strange a chequer-work of Providence is the life of man! and by what secret different springs are the affections hurried about, as different circumstances present!
The theory is all ‘bunk’ and only tends toward greater discrimination.
The years have alter’d the form and the life…
Next, please?
we didn’t see other Americans
tender we love what years have alter’d
rest in hope:
How strange a heart is unchang’d
seed of prejudice
by what secret theory is all the life…
You have these hurries of “drop me a to-morrow” we hate; woods.
Spring thou up with you, anyway?
The throne,
We gaze
my tongue might, Tasting of Flora
prayers of the care in the evening,
not in the Negro population
rise to all, Me,
are like island where I, that
we will
I found that Spring drives out of man! and flower
had the created he/him; what one preaches …
us;
On my flesh shall my soul
I.
We.
fear, nay, by,
Land where my rights that belong
after the smoke
circumstances present!
I walked by time.
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
Love Aunt Rae