Memoirs of a White Marcher

We marched Our legs moving unsynchronized Yet still as one We were always marching In those days The palm of my white hand Clasped tightly in their brown ones Their nappy hair and ashy skin Visible to all Their full, thick lips Calling out for equality Our heads held high Even as oceans of white Met us with violence and hostility We had a cause Our passions enraged By the words of our great leaders Always onward we marched They were my brothers My sisters And they were Negros