All right, two more, and then I'll read from my book.
This wonderful poet.
Vievee Francis, African American poet.
I just adore her poems.
She has two poems in this book.
And because we're getting close to Easter,
I'd like to read you this poem.
"Like Jesus to the Crows" that gathered along his arms,
upon the invitation of a slender limb.
And not oblivious to human violence perhaps
needed rest or needed to offer the succor of presence,
despite the stiff collar of their feathers,
despite each one being no less the children
of a father who claimed an upper realm.
It is not true they pecked his eyes.
Nor did they consider his wounds their own.
They were neither irreverent nor quiet.
They spoke in the tongues they knew.
They called full voiced and would have released him
from his bindings, had their beaks held the power
and had there been time in that place.
Like them, I have sought comfort and so been comforted.
Like them, I have seen the failure of miracles
when they were most needed.
Like him, I have called upon those so unlike myself
when my father failed to answer.