walking over strawberry field
its looking very bleak
twice it did yield
strawberries so unique
juices now all diminished
under bustling poly tunnels
those pickers now finished
tunnels located by runnels*
this now derelict barren lands
looks so empty and bare
no pickers with there hands
thus ends this strawberry prayer
runnels*= streams
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem