Soirée

 

The sprawl of a plantation through the trees,
Along the river heading for the coast.
Where wave and river meet in symmetry,
As sandpipers go chasing after ghosts .

A schooner graceful docks beside the quay,
That fronts where other guests have just arrived
By paddle wheeler after having tea,
The women in dress silk, each style revived.

The master who owns everything they see,
Has carriages with servants for each guest.
They’re taken to the manse thru’ cherry trees;
Upstairs the seamstress finishes his vest.

For later, there will be a lively reel,
To waken up the appetite to dine.
A savant of the South will speak this eve’
About the coming war, over red wine.

For all who mingle near the family graves,
They start to sing as sunset settles low
While viewing from afar the fi’eld slaves
In carrying each sheave in spartan clothes:

“Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness,
Sowing in the noontide and the dewy eve;
Waiting for the harvest, and the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”

Under paper lanterns hung from the trees,
A young man in a collar and waistcoat
Takes his sketchbook to pencil carefully,
As the segregation crosses the moat.

And after the dance, dining and drinking,
The speeches and debating civilized,
That got many at the soirée thinking
And still many more yet to realize.

For hours as the news has some in prayer,
The house slaves tend & clean & rearrange.
A lone bow fiddle lulls the ones still there,
For when the cock crows, life’s forever changed.