Hot footing it to hell to sayA proud black man is on his way."
When such hot venom curled his lipsAnd anger snapped like sudden whipsOf lightning in his eyes, her words,—Slow, gentle as the fall of birdsThat having strained to win aloftSpread out their wings and slowly waftRegretfully back to the earth,—Would challenge him to name the worthContained in any seed of hate.Ever the same soft words would mateUpon her lips: love, trust, and wait.But he, young, quick, and passionate,Could not so readily conceal,Deeper than acid-burns, or steelInflicted wounds, his vital hurt;So still the bitter phrase would spurt:"The things I've seen, the things I see,Show what my neighbor thinks of me.The world is large enough for twoMen any time, of any hue.I give pale men a wide berth ever;Best not to meet them, for I neverCould bend my spirit, never truckleTo them; my blood's too hot to knuckle."
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