time for planting rice
paddies are water full
lady just breaking east
native music plays beat
with tempo stick seedlings
deep enough like thumb
close open mud carefully
not bruise youthful roots
we move step by step
with lines so straight
not like in Louisiana
they have huge machine
that can plant whole day
here we have time; siesta
we have pains, we have fun
then wait for harvest time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have a way of not repressing what you see! We see it too.
thank you very much for reading n leaving your lovely thought