Bare branches bobble

In an icy winter wind.

Lincoln’s birthday hat

Won’t keep him warm

In a frigid setting sun.

He has a sad, crying face

On all my copper pennies

Mourning for the four

Confederate Generals

Who formed the KKK.

Plum weary to the bone,

His tears keep flowing

For our racist country

And the assassin’s bullet

That tore open the flesh

Of a good human being.