The Hanging Tree

A tree there stands upon a hill
Which bears such painful scars
The likes we thought long covered o’er
Yet bleed still through the years

A rope can leave the deepest burn
When weighted down by grief
A bitter crop swung in the breeze
Which beggars all belief

The drooping boughs once proud and strong
Bow down in shame and rue
Their withered leaves like tears do fall
A bistred residue

This broken monument to hate
Ought now be swept aside
As time and intellect advance
Hate ebbing like the tide

But nothing ever seems to change
Man never learns from past
The shackles may not iron be
Each face a different cast

And still in minds the fruit should yet
Be hanging from a tree
Weep for the world we fail to change
Those never to be free.

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Written for a poetry club challenge to this picture prompt https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/488148047203289169