Analysis of EPITAPH, a last ballad to Joe Slave
Román Ortega-Cowan 1935 (Habana)
That your skin ain't white don't count
God knows well of your turmoil!
Black or white does not account
When you speak to Him of toil.
You were hunted like a tiger,
held in chains and burned with oil.
Sold to masters, and transplanted
To this island of red soil.
You left families and dreams,
far behind when you were sold.
Forced to work in pain and screams,
and reduced to your slave mold.
Growing old in prayer for dying
Your last day came gray and cold.
All surrounding you were crying,
Angels dusted you with gold.
All of that is gone forever,
GO, TALK NOW TO YOUR LORD!
In His Arms He'll hold you closer,
to The Glory you longed for.
AMEN!
Scheme | ABAB CBXB DEDE FEFE CXCXX |
---|---|
Poetic Form | |
Metre | 1111111 111111 1111101 1111111 10101010 1010111 11100010 1110111 1110001 1011101 1110101 0011111 10101110 1111101 10101010 1010111 11111010 111111 01111110 1010111 01 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 625 |
Words | 123 |
Sentences | 11 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 5 |
Lines Amount | 21 |
Letters per line (avg) | 24 |
Words per line (avg) | 6 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 100 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 25 |
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"EPITAPH, a last ballad to Joe Slave" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 3 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/99094/epitaph%2C-a-last-ballad-to-joe-slave>.
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