The ballot is a briarberry bush

You reach in 

and depending on how you move

how you think 

how you learned



you can pull your hand out with so many things.

Maybe you got a hand full of berries. (Move on to a improved country)

maybe you cut your hands on every thorn. (Move down to another 4 years of pain.)

Maybe the berries are really poisonous. (Move down to a war with an innocent country)

maybe the thorns had a positive effect. (Move up to a somehow improved world.)

How did YOU pick your bush?

This poem is about: 
My country


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