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***** Ye Old Cotton Mill *****

Down at the cotton mill where I spent my time
It's a hard living but I needed every dime.
Counting them pic's all night long
and listening to the looms singing their song.
Checking that cloth from side to side
looking for wrong draws trying to hide.
Brokepixs mispicks set marks lights
they are all my enemies it don't seem right.
I have to sleep when the sun is shining
and work all through the night.
My mind is confused I can't think straight
I am almost blind and I can't hear a thing.
Got to get out before it's to late
I try my best but every knows when I make a mistake.
I never know from day from to day what Will be my fate
old age is in my bones.
Retirement is coming home is where I belong
no more listening to the looms singing their song.
I will setting outside in the warm sunshine
and sleeping all through the night.
To wake in the morning feeling just fine
and sometimes thinking about.
The old cotton mill
where I spent hard time.

I worked in a cotton
for thirty years and most
of it on swing shift
I wrote this after
a very bad night
Poem By
Clara Strickland Brinkley

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