Photo by Adam Tagarro on Unsplash
They’ve squeezed the final droplets
To hunt and scavenge final fruits
Like a destitute panhandler
Muddy grit and worn-out boots
The mighty coffers filled with echoes
A realm without a dime to spare
No easy having left to have
Along the rotting thoroughfare
Singing out a New Tomorrow song
In a pop-up breadline mall
Where the secondhanded passers-by
Speak weary stories long and tall
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