Canecutter’s Dream

Cloying stench of burning sugar, stinging sweat
Rivulets in every crevice, he swings his knife,
Dreaming of a castle in a forest wet
With carved stone balconies to enchant a wife.

Visions of waterwheels around tranquil lakes,
A paradise where there is room for snakes,
Hydropower for the pumps to run tall fountains,
A medieval folly in antipodean mountains.

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