Exodus Feral soul amongst the reeds lying still in stagnant bog listening to nature’s song performed by cricket, loon, and frog hiding from the rage of men that hunt him for his hue of skin black as Mississippi mud though his heart be free from sin war was waged and war was lost soldier blue and soldier grey ghosts that walk the battlefields knowing not they’ve gone astray southern pride has turned to hate for those who now walk freedom’s road blaming them for northern greed and burned plantation overload children once enthralled by sound of black folk singing in the fields have grown to men of calloused heart with crops of vengeance for their yields so the feral soul lies chilled with sweat of fear and swampy muck waiting for the hand of death while praying for a little luck dawn may see him on a limb swaying in the southern breeze but he vows he will not die in servitude on bended knees C. Lon R. Bruso