Cultural Crux

Is there anything you root for in our garden now? Must I cultivate it to make it grow? Can't seed so many plots, I know. Is there anything you savour in our melting pot now? Seasons changed, and our flavours compound, True essence to distil. Blinded by what familiarity steeps You know our brew only too well, you see. I taste bitterness, you drink me. Remember, The days when cultures were raw, Just fresh and jubilantly spicy? Where exactly did that zest go? Preserved, yes. Unspoiled, no! Simmered away as steam from a kettle, Aromas mingled over. Vaporous, hardly distinguishable. Whatever happened to our cultural bouquet? Trying to bottle it is so hard. Is there anything you relish in our feast now? These days our palates just don't know. We're still simmering. Taste! Taste!