The Black Man Talks of Reaping

This poem by Arna Bontemps is one of my favorites from the Harlem Renaissance Period. It is one I have read many times, enjoying it more each time:

I have sown beside all waters in my day
I planted deep within my heart the fear
That wind or fowl would take the grain away
I planted safe against this lean, stark year

I scattered seed enough to plant the land
In rows from Canada to Mexico
But for my reaping only what the hand
Can hold at once is all that I can show

Yet what I sowed and what the orchard yields
My brother's sons are gathering stalk and root
Small wonder then my children glean in fields
They have not sown, and feed on bitter fruit

Arna Bontemps, 1902-1973