There is a natty kind of mind
That slicks its thoughts,
Culls its oughts,
Trims its views,
Prunes its trues,
And never suspects it is a rind.

(C) Jean Toomer
03/17/2017


Best Poems of Jean Toomer

• Tell Me
• November Cotton Flower
• Cotton Song
• For M.w.
• Her Lips Are Copper Wire
• Conversion
• The Lost Dancer
• Harvest Song
• A Poem From Transatlantic
• A Certain Man
• A Portrait In Georgia
• Georgia Dusk
• Storm Ending
• Unsuspecting
• Evening Song
• Seventh Street
• Portrait In Georgia
• People
• Song Of The Son
• Reapers
• Banking Coal