HENNA
By Tony Mitchelson
From early begin Henna was boisterous
Always vocal about her dislikes
Mama tried to hush her best she could
Kept her in eyesight while working the fields
It knotted her nerves til sundown each day
Mid to teen years were toughest times
Henna challenged every twist to her lean
Just never took kindly to strangle-hold
of her captive’s bind
Her Spirit was much too high for plantation’s mean
Once they whipped a runaway til he died
Tried to custom Henna to the scent of fear
Pushed her body close to the dead man’s face
She touched it gently and told them they was wrong
Said salt of courage was what they’d been whiffing
Lash lines across her back
Leathered the legend of her mettle
Her saga was one of unswayable defiance
She told her Mama she was free despite it all
Welts were just scorings on spine of her tract
Henna wasn’t the breeding kind
Buried two newborns right out of belly
Brazen retaliation to owner and son
for their bestial assaults
She was scornful about any breaching of her ways
Word spread quickly about her doings
Some say the owner bled inside to out
a month after Henna got hold of his ladle
Always sneaking out in the woods chanting --
picking those rosary peas and castor beans
One summer when the cotton bolls started splitting
Henna did the same
Walked right off the field in heat of day
Hounds and hunts never cluttered her mind
Nature harbors those living in true accord
Words trickle down river when need be
They say Henna got two star-black children
and a man to match her mood
Henna shouts a remind down stream daily
Winding ripples raft the vows to set her people free
By Tony Mitchelson
From early begin Henna was boisterous
Always vocal about her dislikes
Mama tried to hush her best she could
Kept her in eyesight while working the fields
It knotted her nerves til sundown each day
Mid to teen years were toughest times
Henna challenged every twist to her lean
Just never took kindly to strangle-hold
of her captive’s bind
Her Spirit was much too high for plantation’s mean
Once they whipped a runaway til he died
Tried to custom Henna to the scent of fear
Pushed her body close to the dead man’s face
She touched it gently and told them they was wrong
Said salt of courage was what they’d been whiffing
Lash lines across her back
Leathered the legend of her mettle
Her saga was one of unswayable defiance
She told her Mama she was free despite it all
Welts were just scorings on spine of her tract
Henna wasn’t the breeding kind
Buried two newborns right out of belly
Brazen retaliation to owner and son
for their bestial assaults
She was scornful about any breaching of her ways
Word spread quickly about her doings
Some say the owner bled inside to out
a month after Henna got hold of his ladle
Always sneaking out in the woods chanting --
picking those rosary peas and castor beans
One summer when the cotton bolls started splitting
Henna did the same
Walked right off the field in heat of day
Hounds and hunts never cluttered her mind
Nature harbors those living in true accord
Words trickle down river when need be
They say Henna got two star-black children
and a man to match her mood
Henna shouts a remind down stream daily
Winding ripples raft the vows to set her people free
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