Poetry By Ken in Rainbow Colors

With the clatter at the stove he woke
To the smell of firewood smoke,
Mother was boiling the morning mush
But there was no need to rush.

Washing his hands for a meager meal
Looking at blisters that wouldn't heal
He dreaded the hard labor at sunrise,
There was pain in his young eyes.

Born a poor sharecroppers son
Of nine children, the oldest one,
He never learned to read or write
And worked from sunup till night.

As the family struggled daily with strife
Poverty and hard times were his life
With barely enough food for the table
And bacon for the beans when able.

His clothes had patches on patches
And shoes with nicks and scratches,
Hand-me-down wear from his dad
Were the only clothes he ever had.

Tending the fields from dawn till dark
Six days a week until Sundays lark
When the family finally got needed rest
In the small shack where they nest.

Brothers and sisters he helped tend
While fences waited for his mend,
Through his youth he gave all he had
As best he could to help mom and dad.

At eighteen he wed the neighbors daughter
The eldest of a sharecropper like his father,
They had six kids after vows were spoken
And the circle of poverty goes unbroken.

©Written by: Kenneth J. Ellison 04-07-04

Song title: "The Cradle Song"

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