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Their eyes are clean and white in their black faces; If they like, they are surly, can speak an ugly no;They laugh great blocks of mirth, their jokes are simple; They know where they stand, which way they go.
If I wore overalls, lost my disguise Of womanhood and youth, they would call me friend;They would see I am one of them, and we could talk And laugh together, and smoke at the day's end.
Marjorie Allen SeiffertPoetry, A Magazine of Verse


TWO WOMEN
Two faint shadows of women were ascending The pathway of a desolate hill,Pale as moth-wings beneath the low-bending Sycamore branches, in the moonlight paler still.
"This one is dead," said the moon; "her face is ashen, She is dry as a withered leaf—What has she known of beauty or of passion To come by moonlight to the mountain of grief?"
"The other too is dead," said the earth, "yet her feet are burning— I feel them hot and restless as blown fire.She has known many paths, why is she turning Here, from the secret valley of desire?"
They passed, the moon paled, and from leafy places Morning crept forth. At last they cameFrom the mountain of grief—women with tear-wet faces Who had been withered leaf and shadow of flame.
Marjorie Allen SeiffertPoetry, A Magazine of Verse

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