a working draft...
So proud, dear cousin, you were a Burton.
Sagacious, you changed; anew, a LeNoire.
You countered, embraced, a life of hurtin'.
As actor, as sage, as patient teacher.
The burning wrongs, your young eyes, a pity;
Your home, Hell's Kitchen: an angry preacher,
Your mother, she died on a dirty floor,
A hospital, Harlem: No blacks past the door;
But you broke the color bar, this: your berth
Sonnet for Rosetta
So proud, dear cousin, you were a Burton.
Sagacious, you changed; anew, a LeNoire.
You countered, embraced, a life of hurtin'.
Like Joan of Arc, you battled in a war,
As actor, as sage, as patient teacher.
The burning wrongs, your young eyes, a pity;
Your home, Hell's Kitchen: an angry preacher,
For an innocent soul, in New York City.
Your mother, she died on a dirty floor,
Such anguish. Paltry words, with such a punch:
A hospital, Harlem: No blacks past the door;
Biting words, yours: Darkest raisin in the bunch.
But you broke the color bar, this: your berth
said The New York Times, when you left this earth.
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