The Dead - A poem

If only the dead can hear
I will sing and dance and tell
of the harvesting of the corn seed that budded
Of the sour grapes that now turn sweet
Of the downtrodden that now blooms
Of the foresaw vision in reality

If only the dead can see
I'll bring them to sit and watch
How the skin of the goat bleached
How the joy of yesteryear now pricks
the effect of a well cultivated farm.  
the spittle that now scents even with the phlegm in it.
The purple hibiscus that damages

It hurts they neither hear nor see
the conclusion of the story
the part b they never saw coming
they left with one sided report
and the site is one worth seeing. 

The Dead
Chines Zoe!