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Rated: E · Poetry · Children's · #2083193
A farming child's prayer
Ya’ Oughta’ Know

Fresh caught catfish fryin’ in da’ pan,
oven be abakin’ Mama’s corn bread,
washin’ our hands in the icy bucket,
bein’ so hungry, it’s time to be fed.

Sittin’ round the ole oak table,
we bow our heads and pray,
“Dear Lord bless this food,
So we may work another day”.

Mama’s work worn hands
braids rows in my hair,
before tuckin’ me into my bed
she says “It’s time for prayer.”

“God, I don’t wanna’ pray
‘cause Ya’ don’t love us here below,
makin’ us work all day in the fields,
Lord, by now Ya’ outta’ know.”

Snatchin’ me off the floor
sayin’ she may be old and slow,
“You best show respect, young miss,
‘cause by now, YOU outta’ know.”

My legs burnin’ from the hickory switch,
I look outta’ my window and whisper,
“I’m sorry, God, please don’t tell Mama,
but I know by now Ya’ outta’ know.”

The next mornin’ when I woke up,
to my window I ‘bout flew,
there was snow piled high all around,
“Thank you, God, I knew You knew.”

Mama cooked us eggs from the hen,
and heated the corn bread good ‘n slow,
I prayed real loud ‘cause mama was watchin’,
pleased that I learned what I outta’ know,
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