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Forest of Windmills
On the hills is a forest of windmills.
A chimera mirage of
shrill, garish pinwheels,
Wailing an endless lament
to the tragedy of the commons.
They spin a yarn of the
collapse of self-sufficiency
and starved frugality,
that yearned to curb our needs.
It's already too late,
or almost too late to ever succeed
in providing for the commons.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
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