A Negro woman's arms grow tired, but her heart palpitates with elation

Her sign never wilts because it reads, "NOW OR NEVER"

Her brow grows damp with the humidity surrounding her, but the Petrichor surrounding her soothes the heat.

She knows all three hundred thousand men, women and children gathered to march, listen, cheer.

She knows them through their dream.

Their dream of equality. Their dream of justice.

All together for the same reason, to be "free at last, free at last"

The Negro woman raises her eyes to the heavens and glances at the bright sun thinking, "free at last, free at last".

She opens her mouth and wails, "free at last, free at last!"

She reminds herself that skin can make all the difference in this world, but it shouldn't

Her blotchy, black, blistered, bothered, beautiful skin only makes her one thing, human.

She reminds herself of the days when her ideas could not be shared.

She reminds herself of the fortune that has been thrust upon her.

She glances towards the front of the lilting crowd, only able to catch a glimpse of the Reverend who began all of this.

She knows him, she knows him through his dream.

They will be "free at last, free at last".