Leopold Sedar Senghor
Like the yeast which white flour needs.
For who would teach rhythm to a dead world of machines and guns?
Who would give the cry of joy to wake the dead and the bereaved at dawn?
Say, who would give back the memory of life to the man whose hopes are smashed?
They call us men of coffee cotton oil...
We are the men of the dance, whose feet draw new strength pounding the hardened earth.
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