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I see a farmer working on a farm, probably transplanting and some plants are pretty much developed.
I feel pain for how man needs to struggle before feeding.
Is it rains or an unseen shower from around,
For my body is wet deep down to the bone,
For the belly aches from want of food, and the soul requires to be nourished,
For out of the soil comes a lot to eat,
But a lot of sweat need to go deep into it.
What trick does life play on us,
How easily it satiate it taste for humour,
For we toil, till and dig,
For the soil to bear forth a blessing,
And crown the sweating soul!
Toil is for the living,
For the living risk not leaving,
Like the the rock lies below the river bed in both dry and rain,
So do we wait upon the dark soil,
To bring forth what we fore-toiled for,
A brighten the gloom of the starving soul.
