Strange Fruit

The polling places stormed will be,
As autumn wanes, this year.
Two southern states, perhaps, may see
Two leaves of color queer.

The many artists fall does bring
To set the leaves ablaze,
Just may decide to do their thing –
And, this time, all amaze.

Two Dixie states are offering,
Upon their canvas bare,
For them to sketch a first-time thing –
Two leaves of color rare.

It’s not a color never seen;
It’s found among the leaves.
You see, our vision’s never clean;
Sight sees what it believes.

And so it is, as artists go;
Our senses they divine.
As we believe, they make it so –
Together we opine.

For Florida and Georgia State,
Their canvases are there.
They offer up an empty plate
For artists, if they dare.

Oh, dare they will; temptation’s strong;
They cannot be restrained.
They’ve been held back for far too long –
For this, they have been trained!

So, as the leaves of autumn fall,
Endowed with every hue,
The painters hear that siren call,
And know what they must do.

To every leaf they give a tint –
Green, yellow, brown or gold –
And every paint brush leaves a hint:
A story to be told.

So, come this fall, their artistry
Will be there on display –
The autumn hues, for all to see –
But, what thing will they say?

Autumn Leaves

Curtis W. Long

Curtis W. Long

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