It was a time of a fruitful loneliness

Blossoms barely holding

So heavy from sainted branches

Compost quickly swept away to iron traps

While carelessness flaunted herself

Until they slapped her face

Falling like skin after Cancun

Then gathered with the plastic hand and booted out to sea

Those who once were free became lost in small fires

And those whose freedom was not won were fine and happy

Winners and losers

Just like old times

Except the clock got longer

And the refuse more tainted