Time of planting lilacs in the morning is almost gone,
Wildflowers asphyxiate summer's sun with merciful glee,
Roses in a rose garden intoxicate the air with arrogant delight,
One by one, they shoot down gloom with radiant petals of light.
Soon autumn's dream will cascade upon this desolate landscape,
Yesterday will be naught and night will castigate evil mercilessly.
Then, if everything here was born to die- why not you and I?

Coming here in hopes of finding you I was overcome by messianic
Wheat fields, gargantuan silos and intrepid milkmaids that swept
The threshing floors fresh with the wink of an eye!
Somebody told me you had abandoned this town decades ago
And I should look elsewhere for my needle, my haystack, my toy.
"Caramba!" I shouted as a zephyr tore open a hole in the sky.
Everything was born to die- why not you and I?

Later that same afternoon, before going out in the storm,
I found Dorothy's old slipper in a burned out basement, scarecrow
Appeared malevolent perched on his crucifix out in the sacred cornfield,
Crows pecking at his chin, lightning bolts electrifying the prairie skies
From east to west, I felt timid yet resolved in the moment it began to rain,
Rain pouring down as in Noah's day! Coming here, I escaped nothing from
Suburbia. If everything is born to die, Darlene, why not you and I?