By Gypsie Ami Offenbacher-Ferris

In response to April’s Batch of Virtual Poetorium Poetry Prompt Photo Provided by Paul Szlosek

There is a house
way down that hill
People live there still

In that house
you were born
While I was shucking corn

You came to me
and stayed with me
Like fruit upon the tree

Your pa and me
on bended knee
Worked late into the eve

We did not know
how could we know
The hand that God would show

At ten years old
you were deemed a man
The foreman with cuffs he clad

Your wrists behind your back
pa fought to get you free – I cried
We’ll get you back some day my son

I didn’t know then
that I lied.