When I Think of Bronzeville

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Traveling south of McCormick Place, you will see,
The huge statue of The Migrant and you will be,
Entering Chicago’s large, historic Bronzeville.
Full by those who came to close the deal.

It houses the people of color, who came,
To the North in search of the very same,
Rights that were denied them in the South.
They came to put food in the babe’s mouth.

Martin Luther King Drive runs down the center,
He bravely acted as the people of color’s mentor.
Years before known as South Parkway Street
Then filled with jitneys, to help those with tired feet.

Bronzeville- a place of warmth and happy smiles.
From those who traveled, oh so many miles.
Good cooking, soul food on that plate.
After working menial jobs, often very late.

Music, jazz, R & B and soul in a loud beat,
Skating, dancing, beaching in the heat.
Giving a backdrop of life in constant motion.
Yet, church on Sunday for regular devotion.

Yes. The symbolic Migrant stands tall.
Shoulders held high; answering the call.
Suitcase in hand, hopes all abound.
Oh, Bronzeville! Bronzeville! Love that sound!




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