Disquiet

The traffic is parcelled up
And sent away.
Now it is quiet
Outside my door.
But I miss the constant drone
Though know
It is for the best.
The wars have all ceased,
Been sent away,
And much grief avoided,
But I lament dictatorial villains.
Crime too has been parcelled,
Not sent, but hidden away.
Almost a threat
To return to sender
One day.
Noxious airborne gas
Has gone,
As has flower scent too,
Pillage, assault and grim slaps
And murders without clues.
And I know this is all good
But something lacks.
I do not celebrate
As I should.

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