when the cotton bolls were fluffiest and whitest
we would have a preview of the wealth waiting in the wings
and like spoilt brats pick our destinations and pastimes in transit
to stations that moved us up the ladder in society's hallucinations

we spoke about the white gold elevating us beyond our dreams
and our imagination soared above the almost mythical themes
of poverty fled and riches flared with flair as hard currencies
lay between fingers that had tended the cotton and picked the bolls

but the cotton didn't sell and it was another year of still-births
and stunted fantasies in a land hankering for good living and excess
oh the pain of gratification deferred!