Maya Angelou

Doctor Maya Angelou the writer Maya Angelou the actor Maya Angelou the poet The singer that was Maya Angelou That Black lady With silk smooth voice Like silk smiling under the finger’s touch She is dead Maya Angelou is dead How does that sound? Do not let questions go to your head For thoughts abound With things that have no answer for themselves Against the contest of death we never wins I have memory on shelves Of those who died and left me all their sins. Maya Angelou is dead Not the singer, or poet, or writer The doctor is dead Do I hear laughter Or the sound of ice in glass Before they pour bourbon, scotch or gin And say I am only like grass Why struggle if you never win? The caged bird is it set free at last Will freedom mute its tongue What happens to the sorrow of the past And the souls of people hung Where there was neither cross or reason Beyond the color of my skin It is man alone that last a season Thinking and believing was Maya’s sin. D. Livingstone Smalling