They were good and serious
Waking you at an unwanted time
After joining you with domestic chores
Stacked you with heavy boring books
Kicking rocks but hurrying along
Down that dusty red dirt road
In two hours filled with a pang of nostalgia
But yet, still endure by finishing up your gruel
Always angry with time keeper
Because of scrap's idleness at home
Three years come and gone
A child becoming an adult
At night, with dirty and smoky lantern
Going to that allocated wicked teacher
Who uses boot instead of verbal correction
Another three years ushered in Six
Which makes me an onused pupil
Another six years receptioned twelve
A period of educational and rationale self responsibility
Having an invisible armour, mission
To wear that black gown and white wig
Which is only prove through another six years
They weren't schooled
But yet, ready to school their blood
There should be no backslide
If those that backslidden are ready to rebuild
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem