In Spring,
Amid stretched meadows,
under the canopy of turquoise sky;
These herds of trees; short and tall,
All lined up to receive,
Their clothes and cloaks back,
Which were rapaciously stolen by,
The dry and howling breezes of Autumn.

The face of humanity,
Under these rejuvenating conditions,
Was maimed beyond repair
And its torso was painted
With the disgusting colours of shame.

Under the ravenous feet of abomination
Was trampled a bud
As an offering to the goddess of rabid conscience.

Who killed?
Who died?
What survived?


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