I Rue the Children

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I look at my garden,

No children playing, crying or enjoying.

I look at my garden,

New world, the Moloch of society, destroying.

I look at my garden,

All in ruins, cockroaches digging deep holes.

And I look back once again,

Squealing, merciless, mad apostles.

The garden was a dream, deep dark green,

Who could have realized

The power of machineries, unseen.

Now that all the children are locked,

With satanic cries, does nature mocks.

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