Brown grass and monkey bars

Boys with marbles and trading cards

Melting tar on a hot day, and there was only one tree

In the schoolyard, that was the place to be

Shade of that tree in the hot southern sun

Was small, only room for some

That’s where the white kids sat

The baking brick wall was all the black kids had

Ring-a-rosy round the sycamore tree

Round and round we go

Playing the games that have always been played

Strange how things stay the same

In the school assembly, amongst the chatter and yawning

A black kid raised his hand, one September morning

And asked if he could sit under the ‘White Tree’

Headmaster said, ‘You can sit where you please’

Next day, on that very tree, hanging nooses were found

One, two, three, swinging and tightly wound

Tree’s got no colour but green

But some of those white kids, had disagreed

Ring-a-rosy round the sycamore tree

Round and round we go

Playing the games that have always been played

Strange how things stay the same

For punishment, Headmaster considered suspension

But settled instead on one week’s detention

Saying, “Kids play pranks, these are not real threats,

Give it some time and we’ll soon forget”

But 6 of those black kids could not concede

Took schoolyard justice out to the hot concrete

With little fists and angry feet, spilled out their pain and rage

Sent one of those white kids to hospital that day

Ring-a-rosy round the sycamore tree

Round and round we go

Playing the games that have always been played

Strange how things stay the same

Copyright 2008 Keppie Coutts–All Rights Reserved.

Keppie Coutts is a Berklee alum and works in the Office of Cultural Diversity.