I used to walk a grimy road
Where litter ruled with cobblestones.
A thick mad mush of plastic waste
Crushed the spirit of youthful buds,
Shielded all green from needed rain,
So no flower-tales could unfold.

No sooner than my latest wandering
Did I grasp this lifeless paste—
Its purpose is neither shine nor shimmer,
But to slow the flower’s blooming pace.

For no buds can bloom when the masses rule,
When their collective mind stains all with hate.