The grain, who reaps the golden grain
knows dust to dust's returned again,
though flesh may rot, one can't impound
the spirit risen, strength new-found.
New found, to greet a season new,
strength springs again, hopes can renew,
but hopes that speed humanity
are ground down by its vanity.
Its vanity will seek full pound
of flesh before the clock's unwound,
and wounded pride with greed for gain
agrees to go against the grain.
(18 June 1991)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem