He was never one
For their Minstrel Shows
Have you ever heard
Of a shadow calling an unknown name?
As daydreaming in and out of time
He once escaped from those
With slave and plantation mentalities
A place of paper tokens
They never liked the silence around a prayer
They never enjoyed a single whisper
He hid from their stump speech
The blackface clown
Pranks of a lost society
A drifting thought of breeze
From grey to dark green
To moorish tones
One could be never seen
A whispers were as close as a dream
One whisper was as close
As the wind that blows
The shadows of the clouds
Were once racing by so  
Boldly under the governed moon light
A slumber of peace
A single rain drop
Once ran down his face
and such was to
tease a tear
He was once the sand so
Scattered by the wind that blows
There no pretentious person
Could hid nor find
As vintage ice
His hands were from ancient nights
As time passed by
His hands became tender or loving
A glacier that became slowly liquefied
A cold unfermented drink
Poured so sweet and dear
Which formed cold gentle streams
Beside a village green
A single Dandelion