My Little Brown Peach Tree Poem by Cena Rose

Perhaps another day may pass
When midnight morning turns dull gray
And lapses have been seen that day
To write in motion what may last

For tomorrow I may see White
And be as black as brown
Knowing that tomorrow’s frown
Is but a peachy fight

And turn to know what is not half
Nor a fully mixed mutt
An world-wide dream-oar, stuck in a rut
Who thought, originally, but a laugh

For some to look, and scream, and see
The color brought lengths past
Know that the change will not come fast
Don’t look my brown peach tree

With its flowers equally laid
Brown peaches specially placed
Those picked properly faced
The harder ground, not equal shade

No one can see the seed of growth
Of my brown peach tree of fair
Some prefer to go out there
To be cut up in life’s five-sided roast

But perhaps –one—day
While lying under my brown peach tree
All those fallen will finally see
How bright it looks with equal sunray

“All’s fair that ends well”
In this it may be true
So that what is given for due of due
Then my burnt heart, begins to swell

Hopes and dreams sprinkle magic dust
For my brown peach tree to grow
And be as big as an Oak does show
I won’t let it die in hope’s rust

And when my brown peach tree is fully grown
I’ll cut it down, for it is of no use
Only a reminder of what came loose
And not of what is known.





Ok. this poem's about the struggles people have with races, the color of my skin versus another. I'm black, as people say, but i'm really brown, if you wanted to go color sceme on me. 'White' people are really peach, unless they're tan, literally, and so on....

My brown peach tree is symbolic of the togetherness of the races, where there is no significance except that my color skin is my color skin. No differentiation. And when the tree grows, it symbolizes the closeness we are to getting fully over the color obsession.