Dirt - Poem by Akhtar Jawad
The helpless man could not kill the dirt,
He brought ashes and covered the dirt,
The rest was done by the burning sun,
The dirt was dried and changed in clay,
Great mother earth made it a fertilizer,
Crops were grown and harvested,
The dirt was eaten back by the man!
We are slaves of cycles and shall remain,
A slave of nature’s game of cycles.
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