The Day Cotton Died

This little piece of poetry came to mind while walking Dallas around the streets of Comer, Georgia USA.

I remember the day cotton died.
Momma fried a chicken.
Daddy hung his head and cried.
An Empire gone.
A King Dethroned.
A Way of Life no more.
Yes I remember the day cotton died.

We said good bye to fancy balls.
And big dinners in downtown hotel halls.
No new cars or Cuban cigars at the end of pick'n time.
We were happy to get a penny for the cost of a dime
When the price of cotton hit the floor.
We worked like fools with nothing to show
Except barely saving the family farm.
Yes I remember the day cotton died.

I went back to the place where I used to grow
To see what I could still see.
The family farm was such a sad sight it nearly brought me to my knees.
Where long white rows of cotton used to grow
All I saw were grass, weeds, and trees.
The old gin was gone cause it was scrapped for the tin
Back in 1973.
Yes I remember the day cotton died.