I grow my own rice,
I till my own cabbage field
Those pink piglets: i feed them
This smooth liquor: I distill each drop
My plum tomatoes: I pick from my garden
My sweat and tears sown in the black soil
The tender friendships: I cultivate with love
These lofty ideals: I shall never forsake
So what is money?
So when would I ever need it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem