The Country's Parade

The parade comes marching through the town

Knocking on windows, tearing our black shrouds down

Beating their drums in merciless rhythms,

Only then do we notice the apparent schism.


One side holds purples and golds

The other, merely greens and blues of bold.

In the middle stands the portly ghosts,

Not realizing that they're merely hosts.


Both sides await the feigned attack

As the parade dances forth and back

Singing in their foreign tongue,

Not quite listening to the beat of the new drum.


Hammering on in senseless fashion,

Seeming to be without real passion,

Both sides converge to cause an infusion,

Not helping them to see past the real delusion.


Trying to keep the wolves at bay

Only to realize that neither side shall give way

The ghosts begin to question the town's display

Wondering: Which will be the side to seize the day?


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