Oh, the many feet
that have trod these stairs.
White,
red, and
brown.
Walking, running, skipping,
down and up, up and down.
Runaway slaves hid ‘neath the ‘case
waiting for that friendly voice
to say the coast was clear, and
they could travel father north
or stay in the village near.
The soldiers with their rifles,
going off to fight.
Women left on the homefront,
comforting children through the night.
Happy times, sad times,
through oh so much.
These stairs have carried families
up and down, down and up.