farming
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Everything looks brown
But the moon is gold
I wonder if she can hear the Earth sobbing
The harvest gains less several single year
Farmers blame the city
I blame the city too
I also blame the farmers
Still in the field.
Bouncing up and down.
Looking back to the left and right.
Darn! Twine broke again, get the gear.
It sits in hard, smooth splendor
There was a face here
Once
The wisdom of years and years
Shriveled down to a compact plastic
