Many of my poems, stories are created from my childhood days, I try to do them justice and portray them with love. It is with honor that I share this poem. E.
When days get bad within my mind,
I travel back to another time. The
fog clears and memory sends, a
gentle soul, a man among men.
As a child whose friendship I won,
The child of a slave woman, the
Masters son. Everyone called him
Big Willie, though when I knew him
he had shriveled with old age, a
religious man, he could recite the
bible without ever turning a page.
Big Willie looked upon life steadily, he
felt alive and whole, he rode an old
rusty bicycle wherever he would go.
He lived in a little house on my daddy’s
land, they respected each other, man
We buried Big Willie one cold gloomy
day, I did not understand why my best
friend had to go away. Daddy placed a
marker upon his grave, when he bought
it he looked at me asking besides his
name what should it say.
An invented child even in those days, of
my childhood friend I knew exactly what I
wanted the marker to display.
“IN HIS YOUTH HE WAS NEITHER DULL NOR WILD, HE WAS KNOW AS BIG WILLIE THE MASTERS CHILD.”
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