This is no life,
Merely an existence.
Where is the cunning
In scavenging for scraps
From these bins
In nocturnal gardens;
The most common rat
Does the same to survive!
I have heard our elders tell
Of the greenest fields and the sweetest grass;
And I have dreamed vividly once, too,
Of midnight hills and rivers -
An innate memory of a life
that has never been mine?