A MOTHER'S PLEA
A huge Negro Mother sitting on the stoops one day,
Her big black baby sleeping on her knee,
Cast her eyes up heavens way,
And began her earnest plea:
Dear God dis boy of mine,
Conceived by me and my mate,
Done had the deep misfaution of crying
His fus breaf in a wurl of prejudice and hate.
'fore he a nutha day olda be,
Or is old nuf to reasun and unastan,
If he can not be totally free
And live like any other man,
Ruther than see him suffer too,
Father take him back home wid you.
I've lived and suffered under dis white man's law,
I've yassuhed and naw shued every day.
But deep in dis baby's eyes I saw,
That old craving to be totally free in evy way.
And if he muss suffer in a white man's land,
And enter in the back door,
And be ashamed to thank like uh man,
Take him home with you furever more.
For dis little child sleeping here
So peacefully 'pon my knee,
For evy little breaf so dear.
Dear God, at lease let him be FREE!
Copyright © Betty Gamble, all rights reserverd.
[From Tuskegee in Macon County, Alabama.]