Poetry Archives

Skin as black an’ jes as sof’ as a velvet dress,
Teeth as white as ivory—well dey is I guess.

Eyes dat’s jes as big an’ bright as de evenin’ star;
An’ dat hol’ some sort o’ light lublier by far.

Hair don’t hang ‘way down her back; plaited up in rows;
Wid de two en’s dat’s behin’ tied wid ribben bows.

Han’s dat raly wuz’n made fu’ hard work, I’m sho’;
Got a little bit o’ foot; weahs a numbah fo’.

You jes oughtah see dat gal Sunday’s w’en she goes
To de Baptis’ meetin’ house, dressed in her bes’ clo’es.

W’en she puts her w’ite dress on an’ othah things so fine;
Now, Su’, don’t you know I’m proud o’ dat gal o’ mine.