BY RITA H. JONES
Who in the world PICKED the cotton pickin COTTON
I rode by the road today
Amazed with my sight again
I just had to take a second glance
Where did it go ………….. what
The white fluffy cotton that flowed down from the pod
But never hitting the ground
WAIT WAIT I looked around and there it was
Laying on the ground like fresh snow
Moving and flinching at a stand-still
Because
It was stuck
Many roots sticking up out of the soil held it captivated
Was it PICKED by hands of yesterday or machines of today
Standing there with cold and touchy memories of the past
But
Never a forgotten foundation for the FUTURE
NO MORE no more cotton
All the cotton pickin COTTON
Has been
PICKED.
Jones is a resident of Creeds and a member of Little Piney Grove Baptist Church. Her poem is © 2016 G.O.D. PRODUCTION.
Used By Pungo Publishing Co., LLC, with the author’s permission.
