The Farmers Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..

They were born, lived and dead
With at ease always in farming
Farmers, the people the contented ones
Their service the people everywhere enjoys
The toiling masses, they are important
Every day they sacrifices the life in working
The fruits, vegetables, pulses, and grains
The good harvests expectations in their words
They sings while the cloud brings the rain
They cries when it is flood and destroy
Every time they have a problem to sell
Their own sweet and blood made the food
Their existence and well being a must for world
They were born, lived, and dead
In actual sense farmers have no death
They are living and will be reborn
The nice ones who spent their life for human welfare.