Slavenly Freed From Uglied Past.
A slave i was born...
by Michael Gale
To run and run and run till there was no more master's to run
from those days wasted on the plantation, sweating while making
Picking the cotton in bar'ed feet set upon the June'd bug soil.
My master had beat me with a leathered whip of nails...
I only had dreams of being a free man, on a far off way'ed boat,
while not looking back, to enjoy the breeze run through my hair.
Only to relax and set off free to an island, i'd well do sail.
Worry spreads from the top of my head-transformed to sweat,
running down to my back.
No more toting bags or bundles of cotton...
Nothing, no more life so rotten.
I am free at last...
Thank God almighty-free to leave this ugly, intolerable past.