At the approach of that triumphant queen,
Pink-fingered Easter, trailing robes of green
Swishingly o'er the flower-embroidered hills,
Her hair perfumed of myriad daffodils:
Upon her trembling bosom now is seen
The frail sweet lilies with their snowy sheen
As sprightly she o'ersteps the springtime rills.
To black folk choked within the deadly grasp
Of racial hate, what message does she bring
Of resurrection and the hope of spring?
Assurance their death-stupor is a mask--
A sleep, with elements potential rife,
Ready to burst full-flowered into life!