I saw a field- once sunflowers- now reaped at harvest time.
Just stiffened stalks and wrinkled leaves, and one head past its prime.
Those glorious yellow petals, dropping - facing the ground,
were the only way I knew the crop that'd just been mowed down.
How sad to be a survivor
who lives by a bowed head
once the ones that faced the sun
have joined the newly dead.
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