I Sing No New Songs 
--Frank Marshall Davis 

Once I cried for new songs to sing . . . a black rose . . . a 
     brown sky . . . the moon for my buttonhole . . . pink 
     dreams for the table 

Later I learned life is a servant girl . . . dusting the same 
     pieces yesterday, today, tomorrow . . . a never ending 
     one two three one two three one two three 

The dreams of Milton were the dreams of Lindsay . . . 
     drinking corn liquor, wearing a derby, dancing a fox-
     trot . . . a saxophone for a harp 

Ideas rise with new mornings but never die . . . only names, 
     places, people change . . . you are born, love, fight, tire 
     and stop being . . . Caesar died with a knife in his 
     guts . . . Jim Colosimo from revolver bullets 

So I shall take aged things . . . bearded dreams . . . a silver 
     dollar moon worn thin from the spending . . . model a 
     new dress for this one . . . get that one a new 
     hat . . . teach the other to forget the minuet . . . then I 
     shall send them into the street 

And if passersby stop and say "Who is that? I never saw 
     this pretty girl before" or if they say . . . "Is that old 
     woman still alive? I thought she died years ago . . . if 
     they speak these words, I shall neither smile nor 
     swear . . . those who walked before me, those who 
     come after me, may make better clothes, teach a more 
     graceful step . . . but the dreams of Homer neither 
     grow nor wilt . . . .