I always have felt strange when we came home To the dark house after so long an absence, And the key rattled loudly into place Seemed to warn someone to be getting out At one door as we entered at another.

'Don't let him cut my hand off- The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!' So. But the hand was gone already.

Her crop was a miscellany When all was said and done, A little bit of everything, A great deal of none.

The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood, Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

He is not there but You know you are tasting together The winter, or a light spring weather. His hand to take your hand is overmuch. Too much too bear.

I was seven years old. What do you know when you're seven years old? All my life, or so I thought, we'd been in the city of Alexandria, in the Street of the Ca…

Sadly I roam, Still longing for de old plantation, And for de old folks at home.