My soul is deep like the rivers, I washed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I have seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I have know rivers, ancient dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. Now i have made the poem a little easier to understand. This man is speaking of the rivers as if they were the history of the African Americans, old and deep, how the Africans have been moved forcefully from place to place to the other all while being used as slaves. From the Congo they were taken, pushed into Egypt to build pyramids, then to america only to be freed by Abe Lincoln. Slavery is an old dark
My soul is deep like the rivers, I washed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I have seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset. I have know rivers, ancient dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. Now i have made the poem a little easier to understand. This man is speaking of the rivers as if they were the history of the African Americans, old and deep, how the Africans have been moved forcefully from place to place to the other all while being used as slaves. From the Congo they were taken, pushed into Egypt to build pyramids, then to america only to be freed by Abe Lincoln. Slavery is an old dark