I Sing America I prance in pressed white with ruffles golden curls, pink ribbons head lifted towards the orb of day My back the view of those I cannot see hatred sickness poverty hunger and obscures from them the sun A thought cloaked in ignorance to face about and stand aside giving them the warmth of light and a strawberry from the basket I carry I selfishly skip gaily down the lane This melancholy song my America sings