the long hot summers of toiling in the fields.
Pulling the ripe green corn from their husky bed,
cuts and scratches that refuse to heal.
There was no shade other then the stalks.
One would have to stay crouched, to dodge the sun.
The pain from walking all day, in a bent position,
only the years would reveal the damage done.
Determined I am that my spirit will not be lost,
in this battle being waged by those who abuse.
My back may bend, to straighten no more.
But my spirit will forever soar and endure.
The legacy I leave to the youth of today,
take no wage for that which burns inside.
You may shed your blood and your tears in
your struggles, in the end your spirit survives.
Poetic Verses By Gamaliel H. Gooding
Copyrighted 2011
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