The ghosts are returning, But have shed their black shirts, As a well-dressed speaker stands up In front of a delighted crowd and Speaks of hatred and division, As if they are normal and happy things. The ghosts are returning, No longer in flat caps and white mufflers, With simple poignant banners, But as children with frightened eyes And forlorn faces like the moon While desks sit empty in rundown schools. The ghosts are returning, No longer as a man at a microphone, With a red, white, and black armband, But as smiling charlatans On morning breakfast shows, Explaining how black is white and white is black. Those who were given the vineyard Have not tended it well. It has grown rotten and bad fruit Has grown instead of good. While a gate has been left open for the ghosts To return to haunt us all. Peter Sagar
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