BLACK and WHITE

Havana in a glance—

Paradise land, all it ought to be.

Under a palm, on one leg, a flamingo stands.

Calaro blossoms all over Vedado.

In Havana everything has its place:

The white folks have dollars,

The blacks haven't. Therefore

Willie stands with his brush

In Henry Clay & Co., Ltd.

Willie, who has swept up during his life-time

A wilderness of dust,

Until his hair has fallen out and his stomach in.

Meagre is the dull spectrum of his joys:

Six hours to sleep on his back;

And occasionally that thief of a port officer,

Passing, might throw him a penny.

Can you hide from dirt?

Perhaps, if

their heads?

st—

only two legs.

noro,

Three kilometres

A fool might think that really,

Right here in Havana is the ex-paradise.

In Willie's brain there are few furrows:

Little sown, little harvest.

One thing, though, Willie knows by heart,

Stronger than the stone of Maceo's monument:

The whites eat the ripe pineapples,

The blacks---those damp with rotteness.

The whites do the light work,

The blacks---the heavy.

Few questions bore into Willie's mind.

But one was the question of questions.

Once when this question crowded Willie's mind.

The broom fell out of Willie's hands---

And it happened that just then.

One of the most magnificent of the sugar kings,