Ode to John Howard Griffin

He was a white man by birth. Shelter from the tumultuous era Could be found beneath his skin. He had not a worry of his own. Instead, he took on the worries of another race. From Texas to the deep South, His journey led him. He denied his true identity. He dyed his skin Black. He heard the cries of the race. He knew their agony. Deprivation became routine. Prejudice, rejection, scorn, hate- So much hate- followed him everywhere. They did not hate him while he was white. They did not hate him for who he was. Racists hate superficially and unjustifiably. Hate was the norm. But they would soon learn otherwise. For those who scorned him did not know How easy it would be To dye their skin But maintain their soul And end up just as black as he.