**Please note that this is only a poem written for my own self entertainment and for a friend who needs to hand in his assignment. No underlying meaning is intended and no satire is meant. The farmers or fruits are not representative of anyone or anything at anywhere, please just read the poem at the surface meaning and enjoy it. (:
They, the people who cast their shadows upon our form.
They, the farmers who let rain fall when they call.
Oh, pick the best fruits and shove aside the rest!
And turn not a blind eye towards the best.
Heap fertilizers, and nutrients, upon those that bloom,
and then cast aside those that struggle to grow.
"The Best!!!" they cried to passer-bys, "The very best, our fruits are!"
"Throw in your seeds and seedling too, for we shall grow them into radiant blooms."
And that the people did believe.
But then, the swarms of locusts did invade
and that, only the luckiest plants survived.
The wilted ones, cast aside, deep into the shadows of chilling doom.
"Help!" begged the ones who gave the seeds, "Help our plants to bloom!"
They however shook their head and refused to lift the gloom.
"Alas!" they sighed, "We aren't able to help every seed to grow."
The rejected seeds are cast back to the crowd, now stuck halfway between:
Then and Now
Up and Down
But the farmers, with huge grins on their faces, continued down the path, shouting,
"The Best! Our fruits are the very best!"