sun baked fields

rows of cotton

time can't heal

a stench so rotten

scars that form

on darkened backs

cuts so deep

don't leave the head

mother's cry

the whips they crack

this kind of life

only healed by death

stolen souls

from broken homes

face of the proud

beaten down

over a hundred years

not much has changed

different scars

on different names

what we find

in the drag of time

that whips still crack

mother's still cry