Last Night Was a Struggle
Last night a struggle fogged the shrinking land,
The trees bowed from the sense of the way;
You squint, I watch, as the rights of civilians
Are discussed by the fogs and mists of the land.
Down the street we see Mr. Gulliver as he sprints,
And missiles look over us, with a reading of fog,
Special sites exist to consume the air rockets.
A wonderful glow occurs every now and then,
Toward the city a missile is sentenced,
To innards the reply is made for the hats.
My trees turn out to be windows
As they are shelled and opened then.
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