Maya Angelou

(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)

Preacher, Don't Send Me - Poem by Maya Angelou

Preacher, don't send me
when I die
to some big ghetto
in the sky
where rats eat cats
of the leopard type
and Sunday brunch
is grits and tripe.

I've known those rats
I've seen them kill
and grits I've had
would make a hill,
or maybe a mountain,
so what I need
from you on Sunday
is a different creed.

Preacher, please don't
promise me
streets of gold
and milk for free.
I stopped all milk
at four years old
and once I'm dead
I won't need gold.

I'd call a place
pure paradise
where families are loyal
and strangers are nice,
where the music is jazz
and the season is fall.
Promise me that
or nothing at all.


Comments about Preacher, Don't Send Me by Maya Angelou

  • Subhas Chandra Chakra (9/9/2016 12:31:00 AM)


    Preacher, please don't
    promise me
    streets of gold
    and milk for free.
    I stopped all milk
    at four years old
    and once I'm dead
    I won't need gold.

    What a poem based on naked truth of life and society.
    (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Mysia Hayling (8/3/2016 10:00:00 AM)


    very interesting piece indeed. (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »



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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 9, 2016



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