Here is where cotton lost it's crown.
Washed away at night, days troubled water.
Dark another pink day, races the sun.
Bags heavy burst dreams of white hope.
And cotton surrounds groves of peaches.
White heads, unfurl thier storied faces.
Humbled now the hands, are spreading cotton.
While woman tend some lips parched in water.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem