The Jazz Singer

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In the smoky haze of dim-lit rooms,

Where the blues echo, and jazz blooms,

A soulful voice, rich and deep,

A black jazz singer, courage to keep.


1930s, an era unkind,

Prejudice rampant, a heavy bind.

Her melody soared, a defiant song,

Against the current, she danced along.


Her voice, a beacon in the night,

A symphony of struggle, a fearless fight.

Against the odds, she'd stand tall,

Notes like raindrops, breaking walls.


The stage was her refuge, a realm untamed,

Yet shadows of bias, relentlessly aimed.

Microphone in hand, she'd face the storm,

A jazz sorceress, her spirit warm.


The crowd may sway, but some eyes would scorn,

As she weaved through notes, a night reborn.

The rhythm embraced her, colorblind,

But outside those walls, a different kind.


Segregation's grip, an iron chain,

Yet in her heart, a resilient refrain.

Her lyrics whispered tales of strife,

A testament to a challenging life.


Through melodies, she'd break the chains,

An anthem of resilience, amidst the pains.

Through the vinyl records, her legacy told,

A story of courage, of being bold.


She wore the scars of a society unkind,

Yet, her voice carried, an anthem of the mind.

The jazz notes wove tales of struggle and grace,

A testament to a spirit that refused to erase.


In the echoes of her tunes, history's ink,

A legacy forged, refusing to shrink.

The 30s may have been harsh and cold,

Yet her music, a timeless gold.


Her voice, a beacon in the midnight air,

A testament to a strength so rare.

In the face of adversity, she found her way,

A black jazz singer, still remembered today.

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