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A Freedom Dream Harriet Tubman was fine-boned, but strong! She worked in the world like a man. Her story is here in the marshes and woods I’ll tell you as much as I can: Screech owl call on a Bucktown night Ain’t no moon, ain’t no light. Child at rest on a corn shuck bed. Strange dreams fill Mis Hattie’s head! Seven years old, a runaway twice, Once, last fall. before, there was ice! There’s a tune that struggles deep in her soul Hat’s star points North, a new life her goal. “Rise up, Hat. You make your bed. Poke that fire,” her mother said. “Sun’s come up, don’t play the fool. Time to bend to Massa’s rule ...”
Gathers them eggs in the pink-washed dawn. Brown feet bare, shift is torn. Springy hair matted with dust and chaff Big brown eyes, don’t never laugh.
Hat plucks hen-fruit one by one, Tears fall quick. Hen pecks her thumb! Round, white, smooth, warm from breast, She finds ten eggs in a hidden nest.
Out from the Big House Mam gives a yell, “Bring that water from the well!” Sun come hot, work begins. Hat’s heart rides out on a freedom wind
Sent to work on down the road, Always hungry, tired, alone. The babe she tends, it frets at best – Cries all night and steals her rest. Hat just does the best she can Dream of a home in Freedom Land. Out through the marsh her soul burn a path. Can a white God hear the thing she ask?
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