In Griffin town, the name is carved in stone, A legacy of wealth, too widely known. But trace the thread of that forgotten ease, Back to the cypress swamps and whispering seas. The 1803 rice fields spread on Grand Sapelo’s ground, Where Thomas Spalding’s fortune could be found. His cotton bloomed from the soil of bitter pain, Watered by tears and soaked by ceaseless rain. Across the currents, in the fevered dark, They bore the chains, a single, broken ark. The Igbo came, thei