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Poem

From the late 50s until the mid-60s,
As I struggled through the mid-summer heat,
I searched but found neither retreat nor relief.

From before sunrise until after the setting sun,
a little boy labored with a hoe in the hand in the
Spring or with a big cotton sack on his shoulders
in the Fall. Very little favor was the lad ever given.

I longed for the brevity of a sweet release.
It wasn't enough to be shaded by a willow tree.
I craved for the lasting joy of being forever free.
Freedom to feel a cooling comfort upon my body;
Freedom for my soul to set its compass toward my destiny;
Freedom to refuse futility and determine my own choice of toil;
Freedom for my spirit to be dislodged from the cherished delta soil.

By grace, my spirit rose from Cottonland to a higher richer ground.
And like an eagle, I soared high with my wings on the wind.

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