Cotton Fields Poem by Sasha Ioffine
Cotton Fields
The cotton fields are in the sky
Inverted in the oxygen
They hang on silver stems up high
Above all women and all men
They pass o'er sickles of the poor
Who work on fields upon the moor
And ones who drink the dry champagne
To talk about the race again
The clouds glide between the air
Escaping over distant hills
But never have the clouds cared
Which souls they passed- and never will
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10/31/2025 6:14:42 AM # 1.0.0
A fantastic poem, like it, a great write.