Old tin cans and plastic bottles,
Cardboard boxes and much more,
We pile up in mounds or dump at sea,
Or bury here,
Beneath our earthly floor.

Garbologists in years to come,
Will search through our piles of waste,
For but a trace,
Of all those things,
Which you’d pushed within your face,
Thus to determine just what it was,
That ended,
What was once the human race.

Sad it is that we must die,
And be placed beneath the ground,
Where our garbage too does sit,
And to think that later also,
That there’ll be someone who’ll come along,
And be digging through our shit.

I’ve thought about it all,
And it tends to make me constipated,
And I think that when I finally go,
Instead of being buried,
I’ll opt to be cremated.

~Poetic Always~

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quotation which could be published here in future weeks.
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