The Death Of My Master

I remember walking among the trees

of my master, longing to forget the

heat of the day.

My hands were sore from holding

that old pitch falk that I used

for tossing the hay.

I remembered the master's

voice as he called from the main house,

Don't forget to bring wood for the stove.

Don't forget to check the clothes line, the

wife wants to make sure that you

bring in all the clothes.

That's my master, he treats me well,

always makes sure I get the leanest meat,

and a double helping of shortbread.

I still dream of the day that I'll be

free to find my way home. A loud voice

came from the main house, the master is dead.

I thought to myself, my prayers have

been answered, now the journey begins.

This journey of freedom that I hold so dear.

I discovered that the home I longed for

was on this land that I had labored

all of these years.

The master's wife agreed, as she

wiped away her tears.