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 Posted: Mon Feb 05, 2007 2:14 pm
Lewis allen
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
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Posted: Mon Feb 05, 2007 2:46 pm
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OptimisticallyPessimistic
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Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 3:56 pm
Wow! You make the South sound so much better! That was very lovely and mysterious. A tad.....eh........depressing, I'd like to say, but the feeling was intensified. Je ne se pas. But I loved it.
Do you live in the South?
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Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 4:21 pm
Wow, great statement made with this piece. Very sad and most vivid in my minds' eye. Thank you for sharing.
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Posted: Thu Feb 08, 2007 7:08 pm
Okay, so you didn't write it though. I thought you did until I went to the link in your next post. Hmmmm. eek
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