The cock crowed hours ago.
No peacock in the world is prouder than Red.
Strut he does in front of his hens.
Then fly’s up to the top of the fence,
puffs out his chest like he was wearing war medals.
Lets out a cock-a doddle-do
loud enough to wake the dead.

Breakfast bell was particularly quick.
Grandma pulled twice and scurried
back to the kitchen.
She can put out a spread
faster than a New York minute.
Time’s not told here with a watch though,
sun up, sun down,
that’s what runs the show in these here parts.

I looked across the table at Grandpa,
we do this skit every morning.
He says ”Son I et seven biscuits”
“Grandpa you mean ate”
“Well it coulda been”
We both laugh and shove our plates away.

My belly was stuffed and
I was filled with "piss-n-vinegar"
like grandma likes to say.
I ran out the back door.
Yelling to grandma my good byes
she tells me “You have a mind child”
she loves me and I do her.

As the crickety wood screen door
slams behind me I see my friend
at the end of the walk way.
“Good morning Henry Gee”
“Mornin masta Ronald”
“Fine day today, you ready”
“Masta Ronald, they pays me to be ready
and I means to be.
You gonna do some pickin or watchin?”

“Henry, you know I am only 8
and can’t reach the tobacco”
“Well masta Ronald it’s on the mule with you.”
“Yes Henry, just like yesterday.”

“Can I ask you a question Henry?”
“I’m listenin child”
“Why do you wait here at the end of the walkway?
All my other friends when they come a calling
meet me at the door?”
“Son, this here is just fine with me and your mammy.
Hush up now and let’s get to work.”

The sun was high above the rows of tobacco
with the night dews smoking off as if the field was on fire.
The dirt road went all the way around the field
as far I could see, white sand and granite rocks,
with horse shoe prints, or should I say mule prints.

Everyone was ready and waiting for Henry Gee and me
down by the smoke house where they hang and cure.
Henry lets out a holler and gets thier attention,
“ Tobacca aint gonna pick itself”
Smiles all break out and work begins.

Henry looks down at me and asks,
“Masta Ronald what song you wants to hear today?’
” Henry Gee I don’t care,
but I am sure its going to be about Dixieland or Jesus.”

With a smile, teeth as white as coconuts,
Henry picked me up and placed me
on the back of the mule pulling the sled.
For some reason I knew the words to all the songs
and sang my heart out.