In the harsh light of the cold winter's moon,
under the cruel glare of the stars above,
as I look upon the barren cotton fields,and
wonder what shall I do to fix wrongs what I've done.
Can I change the past or repair the mistakes?
Why must I have been such a cruel unfeeling master
over all that is mine?
No compassion nor loyalty lay within me for
the men under my employ, nor did I pay them enough.
I worked them from sun up to nightfall with harsh
expectations and no patience for foul ups.
Why, I ask my self was I so mean and tyrannical?
Could I have not been more kind and easy on them?
Was that plantation and wealth worth the pain and
humility that I imparted upon my men?
Oh why I ask the cruel stars did I have to grow up in
the cold overzealous South where slaves are treated
like caged animals and not as men?
My heart grows soft, and my mind reflects upon my cruelty.
And has made me see the horrible error of my ways,
so I find it only just to burn it into my memory,
a ghost of what used to be, and tear it all down
and set my men free from this tyranny.
Donavon Scott Vinson
**This poem is about a plantation owners reflection during the Civil War,
and his decision to do what is right**
