The Slave

From a far away land he was brought in chains In a dark hole of a black ship he was sold for gains. His life belonged to another, And to the highest bidder he was sold to his keeper’s brother. He worked from first light to past the setting sun And then did more until the work was done. Six days a week, with rest on one He toiled at hard labor under the scorch of the sun. The crack of a whip Brought no words from his lips He just looked down And worked without a sound. For his labors he received not a cent, He did and went where he was sent. A crude shelter he called his home Worn clothes were all that covered his bones. Of family he was not allowed any And friends, truly there were not very many. When his life was ended in a rude bed he was laid, And his worn body then placed in an unmarked grave.