Three Epitaphs

Countee Cullen

For My Grandmother
         This lovely flower fell to seed.
         Work gently, sun and rain-
         She held it as her dying creed
         That she would grow again.
                                Countée P. Cullen

For a Virgin Lady
         For forty years I shunned the lust
         Inherent in my clay:
         Death only was so amorous
         I let him have his way.

A Lady I Know
         She thinks that even up in heaven
         Her class lies late and snores,
         While poor black cherubs rise at seven
         To do celestial chores.
                               Countée P. Cullen