Picking the cotton, pick pick pick!
Sharp prickles cut my hands,
Blood leaves my palms quick, quick quick!
My heart pangs for a lost home-land,
Tears hug my cheeks, drip drip drip!
I put my pain away, hide my eyes,
Keep working, lest I am whip, whip whipped!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem