Golden Crop Poem by Max Myre

Men from the North
They came to your beautiful land
Bringing schools, roads, and peace they told
What came were vultures of dark steel
Raining fire and death
Diesel horses neighing iron shells

Men from the West
They armed Holy Warriors
The vultures fell, the horses burned
Warlords allied, others fought on
Their God's pocket filled with the Golden Crop

Two towers fell thousands of miles away
Vultures and horses, again, roamed the countryside
Knock-knock; democracy is at the door
Warlords chastised, others empowered
The Golden Crop set ablaze
To be replaced with the seed of despair

Men from the West
They brought an armored tin can labeled "Democracy"
Once the tin can corroded, its content corrupted
They left with fields burning, houses crumbling
With a lesson learned but sadly bound to be forgotten

The East, the West, the South, and the North
They all consume your Golden Crop
Shot in their dark alleys
Cancer in place of a cure
Your Golden Crop will keep burning
In your fields and in their spoons