Wednesday, January 9, 2008


Why do we detest the wooded lot
Might be the only green space we've got
Poison or pull the flowering weeds
But never plant any better seeds

The grey bearded man with ragged hair
We treat as if he isn't there
But it's not the bent old man we hate
It's the inevitability of his state

We look to the future but refuse to see
The crooked path of entropy
With glasses bought from an optimist
Will we see the signs of the apocalypse

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