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by Cuthbert

'Scrapers touch the sky, as far as can see,
A populous of people, where trees used to be,

Cars that glide, and drive on there own,
A state of idleness to which we have grown,

We shop for food tubes, not meat and two veg,
Where no shop workers are, just bar coder, REG

Buying babies in tubes, idyllic and pure,
Lives last a century, all diseases, one cure,

No streams, wildllife, that's all in the past,
Where the pace of life, careered oh so fast,

No pets just droids, with no real appeal,
Not cuddly or playful and cold to feel,

This is our world, although not yet made,
A world full of metal, anyone afraid?

© Cuthbert 2011


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