Now, she may not breath.
Now, she may not talk.
Nor lift her right arm
and hold it, speaking
a million tongues, raising
an ocean of voices.

And he may not breath.
And he may not talk.
Nor raise his voice. And
she lies so quietly beside him,
and the not so calm
of his death, the not so

calm of color, everywhere,
her voice in the cities,
marching where dust and
rain penetrates soulful eyes,
as their voices speak,
louder, multiplied,

carried by a fertile wind.
Child, raise the sun.
Take its beams like reigns.
Let it green what's dry.
Then let hear what's blind.
Her singing along the sky.

*Coretta Scott King, wife of Martin Luther King who was assassinated in 1968, I think it was.