In the distant future,
The art of horticulture is an attractive pursuit
For the privileged few who can read.
All those Latin names, dried specimens
Fossils and fragments
Snapshots in parboiled stone.
That the flesh of plants
Once thrived, too, under a sun that did not strike to kill
Was a thought that made those privileged laugh. (They scarcely remembered why
And rarely attempted to.)
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