A farmer dressed in spotted in white,
I wait for the rain to arrive.
I look up at the sky
With one hand shading my eyes from the remorseless sun.
But no sign of a cloud.
I still wait,
Seeing my labour wither
Day by day, day by day.
As night sets in I pray
For the next day to be a grey one.
As the grim grey color of the sky –
The grey which is dull and sad to all
Is the only cause of my happiness and my rare solace.
Days have passed.
I wonder in perplexity
Of how I still had any hope left in me.
With weary legs I walk
And look for the taut rope –
The final end of my dwindling hope
Dragging it through my shrivelled farm,
I finally arrive at the earmarked tree .
And look up to see the branch up high
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