And…
The farms are
becoming housing
Developments.

Farewell
to the
Amber waves of grain.
How long
shall liberty still
rain?

Is the well
spring of opportunity
going to become
dry?
Will it
leave us
poor
wretches
to die?

Dear Columbia
I beg of thee
Do not turn
your glorious face from
me!

This is what the old heads say.
“You must learn you make your way!”
Broken memories of D-day
or the Mai Kong
haunting like spectres
or a beautiful
song.
Staccato maxims,
like bullets,
sing a ******
truth
as they pierce
the red-hot idealism
of
youth.

So do not forsake me,
dear Columbia.
I,
your broken son,
stand before you
blinded
by the future
you promised.
This night is
illuminated by those
burning Amber waves.

And…
the farms are
becoming housing
Developments.