I am wheat, blowing in the wind,
Trying to stay in the ground
Watching all the farms go by
I am barely anything
I am wheat, grasping the ground,
Clinging on to life
I used to be something
Now I am blowing with the wind and dust
I am wheat, brown and dying
Blown by the wind
I move back and forth
Never to be seen again
I am wheat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem