Misery Is When You Heard On The

I Felt Very Bad In Washington. . . I Didn't Like My Job, And I Didn't Know What Was Going To Happen To Me, And I Was Cold And Half-hungry, So I Wrote A Great Many Poems.

These Feet Have Walked Ten Thousand Miles Working For White Folks And Another Ten Thousand Keeping Up With Colored.

A Dream Deferred Is A Dream Denied.

As Long As What Is Is-and Georgia Is Georgia-i Will Take Harlem For Mine. At Least, If Trouble Comes, I Will Have My Own Window To Shoot From.

I Loved My Friend He Went Away From Me There's Nothing More To Say The Poem Ends, Soft As It Began- I Loved My Friend.