Carol of the Brown King
This Christmas poem was penned by Langston Hughes, called the "poet laureate of Harlem". I loved teaching it every year in my classroom, and used it with every grade from 4 up to 8.
I always wondered why none of his work was ever included in any of the anthologies selected by the schools for use in the classrooms. I used to bring a couple of his poems in myself. Another one of his that always sparked great debate among the students (I used it in grades 7 & 8) was "A Dream Deferred". What a work that one is. Read it and ponder the question it poses. It's a hard one to answer.
Carol of the Brown King
Of the three wise men
Who came to the King,
One was a brown man,
So they sing.
Of the three wise men
Who followed the star,
One was a brown king
From afar.
They brought fine gifts
Of spices and gold
In jeweled boxes
Of beauty untold.
Unto His humble
Manger they came
And bowed their heads
In Jesus' name.
Three wise men,
One dark like me -
Part of His
Nativity.
Of the three wise men
Who came to the King,
One was a brown man,
So they sing.
Of the three wise men
Who followed the star,
One was a brown king
From afar.
They brought fine gifts
Of spices and gold
In jeweled boxes
Of beauty untold.
Unto His humble
Manger they came
And bowed their heads
In Jesus' name.
Three wise men,
One dark like me -
Part of His
Nativity.
I always wondered why none of his work was ever included in any of the anthologies selected by the schools for use in the classrooms. I used to bring a couple of his poems in myself. Another one of his that always sparked great debate among the students (I used it in grades 7 & 8) was "A Dream Deferred". What a work that one is. Read it and ponder the question it poses. It's a hard one to answer.

1 Comments:
"A Dream Deferred" -- dreams shouldn't be deffered, so questions such as Hughes' should never have to be pondered. It's a good thing Dr. King never deferred his dream.
When my body is old, tired and broken, I'd like to be able to have stories of my dreams that I didn't defer. I'd like to massage the aches and pains, and remember those with no scars, and appreciate them for what the mean -- that I lived my life and dreams, and I didn't let them fester, rot and die. When I remember and feel the pain of a life lived, even if it brings tears to my eyes, I hope it will also bring a smile to my lips.
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