He joked them and teased them and he had his fun
And they never guessed that he was the one
Had been Mammy's darling and Pappy's joy
When he was a great big whickering boy
In the land between the rivers.

'this here ain't no fresher than a horse puddle.'
And the old woman said: 'Pappy, take the young gentleman down to the spring so he kin get it
good and fresh.'
The old woman gave the old man a straight look.
She gave him the bucket but it was not empty but it was not water

'Air you crazy,' said Big, 'and plum outa yore head,
For you knows he went West nigh ten long year?'
'Went West,' Joe said, 'but I seen him here
In the section between the rivers . . . .'

The hour is late,
The scene familiar even in shadow,
The transaction brief,
And you, wanderer, back,
After the striving and the wind's word,
To kneel
Here in the evening empty of wind or bird,
To kneel in the sacramental silence of evening
At the feet of the old man
Who is evil and ignorant and old,
To kneel
With the little black mark under your heart,
Which is your name,
Which is shaped for luck,
Which is your luck.