Let’s make a parade, and march through the gate;
These times are trying, but we cannot wait.
Grace has gone swimming, and things are amiss—
Who in her right mind would argue with this?
See how old prejudice rears up its head?
Cut it off quickly! Make sure that it’s dead.
There’s beauty in yellow, red, white, and black;
Joy’s in the middle, the front and the back.
It’s simple, my friend, to bring a new day.
Old braids of hatred? Just snip them away!
More The Whirligig #273
More Writers’ Pantry #27 at Poets and Storytellers United