Strange Fruit

What hangest there, ‘midst corpses cold?
Strange fruit ‘pon trees of bone, so old.
A taste of poisoned flesh, tho’ spoiled,
The nectar from within like oil.
Amongst the unnamed tombs, so bare,
Strange fruit, so pregnant hanging there.
Dark shadows cast, bone orchard limbs,
As fingers pointing out thy sins.
To tread amongst the ghostly trees,
Strange fruit is seen where once were leaves.
What rotting bodies roots do find?
That pry and search, the earth to grind.
Where bodies buried, crying done,
Strange fruit will ripe, despite the sun,
And when we come, and lay to rest,
What birds will fly to make their nest?
And so whilst moon does show its shine,
Strange fruit will blossom, over time.
Where dead do lay, for years and years,
I’ll water roots, with all my tears.

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