The Old Cotton Mill

Faded red brick, with its tall dual smokestacks,
Silently standing guard, faithful sentries across the clackety railroad tracks.
The old Southern Cotton Mill long ago abandoned — on it stands,
Like so many have gone, around our beloved, cherished lands.
Shhhhhh … Quite … Give a listening ear,
Echoes of happy voices. Can you hear?
All seem to sing, joining in the boisterous chime.
Wafting in the still air, lost, but, close somewhere in time.
After a long, hard day, toiling with tools, spindles, looms and cotton.
Tired, aching bodies, pleasures of this life, almost forgotten.
But then a loud shrill whistle blows, today’s work is done.
One shift ends … yet another shift has begun.
Workers flow out … as others flow in.
Treasured time — now with family, for them, here life begins.
Most departing the mill on foot, with homes just steps away.
It’s “Mill Village” — where all their innocent children play.
Life for some was not so easy, as each day they’d greet.
Low pay, double shifts, sometimes a must, just to make ends meet.
Little brown sacks, stuffed to the very top,
Held peanuts grown from our family garden plots.
Mama prepared and Daddy made haste,
Peanuts and hot dogs they’d sell at the cotton mill’s entrance gate.
Eat, sing, play a little guitar music and evening is through.
Slumber, then awake — And beat the loud, shrill whistle before it blew!
Workers flow in … and workers flow out.
Another day starts … It’s what life at the cotton mill is all about.
Shhhhh …Quiet … Give a listening ear.
Voices of long ago, you just may hear!

Teresa Eubanks Butler, Lillington, a member of South River EMC