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Poetry | Black Cotton by Arthur Cunningham Clark

Daily Digest, Lyric & Verse

Clear blue skies, fresh cut grass
water as clear as new made glass

curtains of lace, linens so fine

furniture of mahogany, ebony, & pine

bedcloths of satin, blankets so warm

that makes things seem calm when all around is storm

but you do not take notice of those who are there

who labor & toil to make your life so fair

their skies are cloudy, they have no grass

they can only dream of clean water & glass

they have no curtains, no windows for that matter

their house is a shack, weather-worn & tattered

their garments for over a year must last

& their shoes they received three years ago passed

their furniture consists of a table, two chairs,

beds of woven straw, & blankets full of tears

they have no comfort when they face a storm

yet you turn your backs as they plead, No more!

but they get the strength from somewhere, somehow

to go out to your fields & push heavy plows

& while they harvest the fruit of the seed

they prick their fingers & begin to bleed

but you do not care, you make them work still

in the midst of the tempest, the storm, & the chill

& I ask myself

Why is cotton the color it is?

Arthur Cunningham Clark | January 20,1999

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