The Land

What has overtake the land of honour?
Where there live fresh prey
But were hunt and ingest by lion
And left none for his adherent except his bloodline.

What has strike the land of resources?
Where there are millions of opportunities
But the graduate have to scour the terra-firma
Wearing his poulaine and keck with fuzzy appearance
And wade through over and over the signboard.

Oh, the land of promise what has befall you?
Where the wigs never do candour.