The river whispers secrets,
A symphony of rustle and sigh,
Through cypress knees and moss-draped trees,
It flows beneath a watchful sky.
The sun, a burning ember,
Sinks low, paints the water gold,
As shadows stretch and whispers catch
On tales the river has been told.
Of slaves who walked these muddy banks,
With burdens heavy on their souls,
Their tears and sweat, the river drank,
And carried them to distant goals.
Of freedom's cry, a mournful song,
That echoed through the cotton fields,
And rose, a phoenix, strong and long,
Where hope and justice held their shields.
The river's song, a lullaby,
For weary souls, a gentle plea,
To rise above, to touch the sky,
And find the strength to be free.
The water flows, a constant stream,
Reflecting stories yet untold,
A testament to dreams, a gleam,
Of lives that blossomed, brave and bold.
So listen close, and hear the call,
Of the river's song, a timeless grace,
A legacy for one and all,
To carry on, to find their place.