Bittersweet
Above green fields cane arrows rise,
A host of plumes against blue skies.
As they bloom they bring new life,
Yet echo times of toil and strife.
The arrows proudly lift their heads,
Where generations’ feet have tread.
Growing here is bitter-sweet,
As memory and landscape meet.
With every wave, with every sway,
They whisper tales of yesterday.
Of all that was, and yet may be,
A fleeting hymn to history.
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