The Old Oak Tree Poem by John F. McCullagh

The Old Oak Tree



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.

Monday, January 19, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: Racism
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Suggested by the song 'Strange Fruit' This is about a dark period in America's past where hooded vigilantes murdered young black men without trial or jury for real or imagined offenses. The P.O.V. is the father of the victim.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
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