Those Better Years Poem by RIC BASTASA

the farm yielded
more than what the
storehouse can
ever hold

the mangoes ripen
with no one to
pick them up

the birds feast on the
grains and the butterflies
feast on fruit juices
dropping to the
grassy ground

the rivers are clean
crystal clear creeks
with fish teeming

the seas have white
seagulls over them
the bottom all filled
with corals and
fish crowding

the crabs bite us
when we pass the river
we never pick any

the geese abound
and no one uses a gun
to kill anyone

there were no cities then
no tyrants no conquerors
there was peace
and progress

until the discoverers came
and named our lands
in the name of their king.