(or Ode to the Cotton Picker)
Kids really worked, way back then.
We'd milk the cows, and slop the hogs,
There wasn't much time for dialogue.
Then on to the field with the cotton sack,
Down 'tween two rows and never look back.
We felt fresh and would sing a song,
Though that fresh spirit wouldn't last long.
When our sack was full and the day still young
We'd go to the scales on the wagon tongue,
It seemed, though I picked as hard as I could,
It never weighed out, like I thought It should.
So back down the row to pick some more,
Though my back was aching and my fingers sore
We'd pick and pick and pick 'til noon,
And believe me, it didn't come too soon.
At the end of the row, we'd sit in the shade
And eat a lunch that Mama had made,
T'wasn't much, cold cornbread and beans,
But to us, it tasted like food for queens.
Papa stretched out on the ground for a nap,
For a pillow he used his old cotton cap.
He said "Sis, while I sleep a wink,
Go to the spring for us water to drink."
And the sun as hot as blazes of blue.
So weary and tired, I went down and back.
Then again 'tween the rows, pulling that sack.
My body so weary, my back about broke,
I thought before sundown, I surely would croak.
But then as the sun was sinking low,
We'd pile in the wagon and home we would go.
After our supper, and the chores all done,
A good night's sleep, we'd be up before sun,
Though we knew we'd come home again weary tonight
We started out rested, our hearts were light.
When anyone asks me about the trouble today,
Of all of the young ones, that's lost their way,
Or older ones too, as a matter of fact
that don't know how to find their way back.
That are searching to find out who they are,
And needing to follow a certain star,
They'd have plenty of time to resolve the deal,
Between two rows in a cotton field.
by L.E. Ashley