The buttercups

The fields that once held buttercups are gone

Giant furrows pattern that long land

Made by huge machines whose time has come

Precise as old account books , now forlorn.

As moving as are waves on desert sand

The fields that once held buttercups have gone

Nothing human-sized remains untorn

Nowhere for dear lovers hand in hand

Killed by huge machines whose time has come

But young folk do not court, they hurry on

Annihilating what we elders understand

The fields that once held buttercups have gone

All too rapidly our world’s undone

To the deserts of the heart we’re sent

Dragged by by huge machines whose time has come

Can no passion change the way nor lend

Creative means to pacify and mend?

The fields that once held buttercups have gone

Ground by huge machines,death times have come


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