Even if there is,
And it is just unfairly distributed,
We're all getting close to famine,
Whether because the ingenuity humans have used,
In creating food outside of Nature,
Falls under the weight of sheer demand,
Which exceeds our capacity, for sure,
Or Nature, herself, turns on our assumptions,
Which we use for all our technology,
That certain things will remain the same,
No matter how we whack and weed.
And it's alright,
There will always be a few of us left,
To start again from the beginning.
If not, we would be bereft.
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