An open field surrounded by grass,
there sits an hourglass, soon they
will construct a cement overpass.
Congestion is frustrating, thinking
of ways to solve it is 'useless'
costing too many resources, time,
maybe even cut out a section
of their personal leisure lines.
Meanwhile, the world, we mistreat her.
Her blood drips from her mouth,
our mother now turned into a mistress.
I just wish she was victimless.
If we don't get nourishment from
our mother's, she provides.
She is a pure gift given to us,
the greatest example of a mother.
Whenever we need something,
she has us all covered.
Now why would you want
to mistreat your mother?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem