the land

Now is a time,

When the grass has stopped growing,

When the clouds have drifted away,

When all the leaves, save for one,

Have shaken off the branches,

Into a dust-covered ground,

Maybe if that being,

Who had lived and breathed that land,

Who had put the hope of tomorrow,

Into its fruitless crops,

Had gone away,

For a second, a day, or two,

It will come back,

The flowers, the trees, the soil, and all,

Upon the dry floor of the abandoned desert,

Shall come back momentarily,

And jolt life back into its nimble existence,

But why a second, a day, or two?

The land is better without that humble being,

The land will flourish and it will thrive,

There will be fields of magnolias,

Looked over by promising rays,

And no one will remember the days,

When the land was just an illusion,

Of a hopeless dreamer,

Of an optimistic loon.

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