Corlee 2

Corlee’s hands,

tough as boot leather

They’ve picked cotton,

shucked corn – oh

those hands of hers, now

what they haven’t done

I’m sure that I don’t know.

And her face, well

People look – and look away

No beauty contest winner, her!

Ruts beneath her eyes, you’d think

that rivers had worn deep.

And mouth so bitter-sad

and sloping shoulders sunk.

And her poor legs –

They throb and ache

under support hose, but

there’s too much to support

and Corlee’s heart’s

not equal to the strain

But Corlee’s soul!

That’s soaring, eagle-high

As clean and crystal clear

as baby laughter,

waterfalls

And someday, someday soon –

she’s off to find the light.