We know which way we should go,

And that one day well have to eat the crop we sow,
Springing up from fertile fields,
Bombastically bursting with young yields,
That have been tilled and plowed by many a political earthworm,
Whose fleshy promises wither as the noonday sun starts to burn.

Yes, one day well have plenty.
Plenty of bewildered babble,
Ricocheting off a raucous, rambling rabble.

Well be astounded at what grew,
And point the finger at those who knew.
Well refuse the fruits of our labor,
Well sound the trumpet and rattle the saber,
But leave the harvesting to our neighbor.

Well have plenty.

Well wonder why we have so little to eat,
When we have plenty at our feet.

Bfk
2014 Benjamin F. Kaye