A White Plantation Poem

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On a hill stood a mansion grand and tall,
A white plantation, a witness to history's call.
Its walls held secrets, stories of the past,
Of a bygone era, that's too fleeting to last.
With columns and verandas, a stately facade,
A beacon of wealth, a symbol of pride.
Fields of cotton stretched, as far as the eye could see,
A testament to labor, and a dark legacy.
The master's voice echoed, commanding the land,
Enslaved souls toiled, with scars on their hand.
But whispers of resistance, of hope and of pain,
Echoed in the shadows, like an everlasting refrain.
Generations have passed, and time took its toll,
But the old white plantation stands with a story to unfold.
A reminder of a past, that can't be denied,
A complex history, with wounds that can't hide.
Now a place for reflection, to learn and to heal,
To honor the truth, and the stories that feel.
A reminder to never forget, the lessons of the past,
As we strive for a future, where all are free at last.