In Baguio’s terminal, behold the scene,

Synthetic trees and grass so green.

Victory Liner’s grand parade,

Of plastic pines in their charade.

The scent of pine, a fragrant myth,

Replaced by sprays, a faux-sylvan whiff.

Concrete jungle, now disguised,

In artificial woods comprised.

Oh, what a vision, grand and bold,

But nature’s beauty, it can’t hold.

A mural bright with artists’ flair,

Could capture Baguio’s essence there.

Stained windows soft, in pastel hue,

Would whisper tales of morning dew.

But no, we get this plastic cheer,

A farce of nature, never near.

Victory Liner, hats off to you,

For your green mirage in plastic view.

Next time, perhaps, a truer nod,

To Baguio’s soul and nature’s God.