No dews on the grass
No sky purple
No delightful notes in the air
Only zooming down

My father picked up the journal
Massacre, explosion, ****, theft,
He whispered instead of good morning

Inside the room
Mr. Mrs. Miss.,
Gave us bed tea
Who opened TV? Mother?

It doesn't matter
They are bound
Job well done

Days have undergone upheaval
Morning is dirge
Oh! Modern century
Torn apart wings