Sea and land may lie between us, but my heart is always there with you.
For in the forest someone is always watching and someone is always listening!
Like the magnolia tree, She bends with the wind,Trials and tribulation may weather her, Yet, after the storm her beauty blooms, See her standing there, like steel, With her roots forever buried,Deep i...
{Summertime she speaks of winter, she eats ham, but speaks of beef, got a good man but, flirts with another. She might as well go to hell, cause she ain't gonna be happy in heaven either!}
Are you a traveling man he asked?
Children worked in the mills: "I will always believe that children are designed for green meadows and play, not for factories and cotton dust.
Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left, but did you hear me cry out to you!
I could faintly smell the ocean. I imagined being one of the old oak trees standing there swaying in the wind and braving all sorts of weather. I pondered what they had seen in the past and what they...
Humans will never be in charge of this world, as long as dust and weeds do as they please.
It was not an unusual site to see Negro tenant farmers crossing the intersection of Spring and Barbrick on the way to the cotton warehouse
It was a warm and natural feeling to be there. We were not black or white people. We were just people bound together by love and understanding. As I walked out of that church, I felt like I had redisc...
He is dressed in a long, white robe and in his hand is a white cap. I draw up as he passes down the hall; he does not see me. Shortly I hear a horse leaving. There is much I do not know about him, but...
The sun had just slipped behind the trees and evening cast its dark, smoky shadow.
According to Robert, his friend Moses was a soldier in the first war, as he described it. He fought Indians and soldiers in red coats.
Papa was our strength and the very fiber that wove our family together. He was our foundation and our rock, but even rocks, break, given enough stress.
Before I disappear behind the door, I stop and turn around to look at him.
I stop to brace myself against the walls, which are painted with the fingerprints of family.
I can hear my steps echo as I follow him to the end of the hall. The door to the small closet under the steps is standing ajar. He closes the door and latches it.
The curtains were not yet drawn and with the moonlight spreading across the room, I could see clearly. I undressed and slipped a soft cotton gown over my naked body. I pulled the blanket off the foot...
I am reminded that the children we birth do not belong to us. They belong to God. We are simply the vessel through which they arrive on this earth. We are appointed to care for and guide them; however...