Pastoral scene of the gallant south
with the bulging eyes and a twisted mouth
as the fluids dribble from chilling flesh
in trampled magnolias, once so fresh.
Southern trees bear strange fruit;
blood on the leaves and blood at the root.
Rainbow shapes swing in southern breeze.
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
In the daytime, the sun says our produce is clean
but the moonrise tells what alter-facts mean.
Ages pass, and how have we changed
when the night sees these strange bitter crops still remain?