Revolution


Pristine are the snow cliffs, the rainclouds and the icicles;
Pure and white in intent, gushing forth from the heavens;
The freshness is life giving, colorless and selfless in purpose;
Meanders through the countryside, stained by the nature of the soil;
It takes the redness, the richness and the spoils,
It smells of the flowers, the trees,
The roots that protrude and filter,
The fruits that fall to enrich,
The grass that sing lullaby,
The beautiful country side;
The lakes, the waterfalls, the rocks,
The whirlpools stirring up froth;
What a romantic odor?
A majestic march indeed!
The pride of the nation,
The cradle of civilization;
Then it reaches its destination ""
The enforced uniformity!
The salinity, oh its bitter!
The conformity, oh its suffocating!
What has become of thou?

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