From Philosopher’s Holiday by Irwin Edman.

Left meant left when I was a lad,
And Right meant right — not simply bad;
These terms, both simple and geographic,
And principally used in directing traffic,
Were each of them spelt with a quite small letter.
Not even the teachers knew any better.
Now each has become a Moral Sign,
Dividing the race by a bitter line,
So that each of us knows who is good and bad,
Which none of us knew when I was a lad.

And the same holds true of Red and White,
Once the names for lovely forms of light,
The red of lips, or of skies at dawn,
Or geraniums glowing near a deep green lawn.
And I sigh for the days when left meant left
And weep in a world of peace bereft,
For the days when red meant a summer rose,
And white meant a mountain clad in starlit snows.