One of everything and then too many.
This is how it goes down here on earth.
First we laugh and
Then there is no mirth.

They shut the laughing factory down
To build an artificial tree.
I wondered why they named it
The Last Epiphany.

First we knew and then we forgot
That everything is a vacant lot.
They build a wall around the tree
To erase the thought of serenity.

Crowds of people dumbing down
As they gather round the vacant town.
Two of you and more of them
To sing this artificial hymn.

I would break the wall.
I would kill the tree,
But it seems there are more of
Them than there are of me.

Vicki Woodyard