I saw a cotton field
with wrinkles in the sun
chains held fast the shame of it
and tore the moral coat.
The agony of money sweat
regurgitating fear,
tearing hopes of innocents
a plea for no repeat.
A blessing for calamity
a visage modified
from such a lowly parsonage
ideally ratified
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem