Bernice Afriyie, Supplement Coordinator
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies lying in the Southern streets
Strange fruit bent back bloody on its knees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulgin’ eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of rain, like petals, it showers
Then the sudden smell of gunpowder
Here is a fruit for the police to pluck
For the judges to gather, for the media to suck
For the news to rot, for the earth to mop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
