Yours is a life artificially lengthened
grass that was green, I struggle to remember.
The making of love, beneath the brown thistle,
new children pass by and they to learn to whistle.
More babies come, less poor babies die, is there anything
more or less, these teenage parent's should know?
Extended work hour's
for those whom exploit them and are known to grow richer.
your poverty only grows deeper, the greedy won't listen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem