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.