George Holcomb Prosser Collection
1 Strike at Enka ...
*[Written during a strike at the American Enka rayon plant in Candler while Prosser was working as low-level management at the plant.]


I sit beside my window sill,  
     My sock feel on the grill,
And think and watch the folks go by,
     The street is never still.

I think of war and work and folks

     Of memories on the farm,
Why human nature guides our steps
     To things that do us harm.

Now, I tell time just like a dog
     I do not need a watch,        
For traffic going by tells me  
     Some one has made a botch.

The shift bus does not pass the door,

     You'd hear it on the hill,
And I am lost the time to tell
     And traffic's but a rill.

Folks do not lean to shout at me 
     If in the yard I stand,
To gather clothes and help the wife,
      Without the least command.  

I miss the jibes, regret the gap
      That time has brought to me,  
And never thot that so few folks 
      Could see what was to see.

A peoples' life flows as a stream,
     Each droplet has a part,
And all together blend to make
     A river strong at heart.

The river carries food for all,

     But one must fare up stream,
And be alert to do about
     A living just to glean.

The river runs mid pools and falls,
     Then rapids and o'er the bars,
And each stretch is a testing ground,
     Eternal as the stars.

The rapids test our strength to live,
      But must be passed to reach
The deep and peaceful pools that lie,
     Along a sandy beach.

(frozen) The bars consist of settled froth,
     The waste of untold years,


To go around them is the game
     And shed not any tears.

The falls cannot be passed at will,
      A deep pool will give shelter,

And only in flood time alone,
      Is passage there the wetter.

If  luck and strength should get you up,

      Without a doubt you'll find,
There still are rapids, pools and such,
     Just as you left behind.

There always is a falls ahead,

      The currents swifter grow
And pools get smaller step by step,
     The farther up you go.

Some have not strength to breast the tide,

     But bravely hold their own,
Content to do the best they can,
     And glean amid the foam.

It's better far to judge your worth,
     And stop while there is time,
Than waste your strength and miss the pool,
     To lose your place in line.

Still, when you're spent, the currents there,
     It does not flow; up stream,
And you can drift past many pools,
     There is no place to lean,

And, so I say it's better far
     To make haste slowly, sure,
Stick to your job and do your best
     And watch and wait secure.

G. E. Prosser