Among twenty snowy mountains, the only moving thing, was the eye of the blackbird

And they tell me you are crooked, and I answer: yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again,

You may write me down in history with your bitter, twisted lies.

But still, like dust, I rise.

I resist any thing better than my own diversity,

I was of three minds,

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action,

Does my sassiness upset you?

At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest, and tack-ing,

A man and a woman, are one,

Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,

Up from a past that's rooted in pain, I rise.

Sandburg, Carl. "Chicago". Poetry Foundation. 2019.

Stevens, Wallace. "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird". Poetry Foundation. 2019.

Whitman, Walt. "Section 16, Song of Myself." WhitmanWeb. University of Iowa. 2019.