Stale Epoch

I forgot my name the other day

I was sure I was someone else

Because my face was

Creased with age

And my voice

Quite raspy

Perhaps it was because

I stole a tree from

A farm down the road

Though everyone is

Stealing everyone else’s trees

Tree stealers have no face

They think they do

Because of the fruit

From thy tree but

Most trees be rotten

Decaying apples

Rotten grapes and

Squished oranges

They are the source

Of

My Generation.

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