Poetry

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THE HARVEST’S END

Land of the plenty more than enough
Land of great waste maybe to much
America once with fast farmlands
Now just a fraction of the stuff.

More than half the jobs worked
Were in agriculture it’s been said
Only need two percent to do the job
All this at turn of century marked.

Famine in America you scoff
Ninety-nine percent in danger
The Great Depression a flicker
Now many may soon die off.

The cost of fuel to transport
Those far from distribution
There will be no contribution
So many counting on support.

Where are our gardens now?
Small farms no longer exist
No one knows how to can
Time to buy a new hand plow.

To stores they raid all the aisles
Look at the people hustle so
Alarmists and futurist we call them
Time we grow our own stock piles.

The economy begins to crumble
America lives security false
Time of plenty is at risk
No time this ball to fumble.

Written by Dr. Rick McGrath, Ph.D.

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