Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
These fell miasmic rings of mist with ghoulish menace bound,
Like noose-horizons tightening my little world around.
They still the soaring will to wing, to dance, to speed away,
And fling the soul insurgent back into its shell of clay.
Beneath incrusted silences, a seething Etna lies,
The fire of whose furnaces may sleep, but never dies!
Written by Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880-1966)
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