Strange Fruit

By Abel Meeropol

Southern trees bear strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black body 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 magnolia 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.

Abel Meeropol: An American Communist poet.. In 1937, she a photograph ( the one below) of the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Shipp. She was inspired to write this poem as she was haunted by the photograph for few days. She a member of the American Communist Party, using the pseudonym, Lewis Allan, published the poem in the New York Teacher and later, the Marxist journal, New Masses.

Life is but a dream

by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

A boat, beneath a sunny sky

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July--




Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear--




Long has paled that sunny sky;

Echoes fade and memories die;

Autumn frosts have slain July.




Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.




Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.




In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die;




Ever drifting down the stream--

Lingering in the golden gleam--

Life, what is it but a dream?