that spring, there was a terrible drought
no one could stop
the earth from cracking open
and spilling its shrivelled guts
mice jumped out of rice jars
not a single grain was harvested
but so as not to make the higher-ups lose hope
our considerate village headman
sent people out night after night
first to paint the ground grass-green
then to paint it gold
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem