Oh Viola Davis, how instrumental you are to me,

my black Meryl Streep,

as American as the Jeep,

as dark as the Sudanese.


Keating, Annalise.


So versatile,

you make me weep,

straighten my back,

crush me into a heap,

every emotion you portray

scores deep.


I see you in me,


you are older, bolder,

yet from my imagination you leap.


But you’re a treasure of my mind,

and in that way is the way you will keep,

so not a peep,

soon you’ll reap,

but for now

stay dormant.




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