Sunny, little slave girl
With the flower in her hair
Her “masta” put it there,
She dances with such flare
And pays him his share
With eyes cast down, she never stares
The show goes everywhere
They make quite a pair
She danced for the sheriff, and she danced for the mayor
She danced at the parties and took what they had to spare
But when she broke her leg one day
Or maybe it was just a tear
She learned he didn’t care
Sunny, little slave girl,
With the flower in her hair
Her “masta” laid her bare
About the Creator
Nailah Robinson
Author, Mother, Wife, Sister, Daughter, Cousin, Daughter In Law, Sister In Law, Friend, Grand Daughter, Niece, Teacher, and Student. I am so many things to so many people, but in the end, I'm just Nailah.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Masterful proofreading
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes
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More stories from Nailah Robinson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Noo, Sunny! I'm so dissapointed it ended that way😞 Very playful and entertaining! I loved it!
Poor Sunny. Nice poem. I love that you carried the same rhyming structure throughout the entire piece.