Last Of A Breed Poem by shimon weinroth

there will be no one to whimper for them
at harvest time the barchash swarm
surrounding the kibbutz man
who braved nature's elemental
to build a new society, islands of equity

tilled the land for decades
stilled by economics and the banks,
paper juggling, rubbed their noses in the mess
swallowed the righteous pigeons whole

tore down the walls of innocence
social order with sour hypocriscy
buried these pioneers of a code
now the land is let out to speculators
and the few who remain
at harvest time the barchash swarm