I remember so well this old oak tree.
There was a swing hung from that limb.
On bright summer days you would swing and sway
waiting for your future to begin.
On warm summer night beneath celestial sights
You'd kick up your heels at the breeze.
You'd fly through the air with nary a care,
swinging as high as you please.
My old eyes are clouded with tears that won't cease
Won't you come see what they've done?
The Klan caught him talking to somebodies girl;
This old Oak is where I found him hung.
I so did enjoy having you for my boy
So proud of the man you would be.
But all came undone, they have murdered my son;
Left him hung on the limb of that tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem