Ah, Amazing Cotton Fields Poem by Marilyn Lott

I never saw a cotton field but I know here in my nation there are. Someday I'm gonna visit it to see what beauty awaits!

Comes September and it's time to save the crop. That's how Eugene Haynes described The end of the season and time to stop And harvest what had been provided. Dragging a sack between the rows Picking from both sides as he goes, The burrs don't give up easily To the stoop labor of the family. But there's another reward, For the kids have the job Tramping down the cotton In the wagon. To soon its over and to the gin they'll go Paying to the share-cropper his part Of the crop, depending On the bargain set at the start.* But the seasons and others Are long past gone And now the old sack Hangs in the shed alone. Machinery has taken its toll As the men and women grow old. Leaving only memories there at last For a glimpse of a distant past. (The 'renter' was dependent on the land owner or gin for not only his house, but a dole paid out over time until the next harvest. Often there was little left after all the debts were paid.) s