In the lush green wheat fields <br />the beauty remains hidden until its ripe <br />From green to gold, erect to oldm cut to sold and head to told; <br />I'd be the last caliph of this smallest large field <br />water be the food for your beauty be seen <br />and soil be the shoes to your feet <br /> <br />you know; when beauty is at its peak <br />it's harvested, to be made someone else's beauty <br />and that beauty becomes someone else's charm <br />and charm in sight leads to the achievement <br />and achievement is the price that shuns the beauty <br />and dying beauty is like sinking sun, lamenting light, agonized ailment, distant distance and soul-less smile... <br /> <br />I always feared to scrutinize what i am doing now... <br />I'm stuck between letting you die of age or making a good harvest! ! ! <br /> <br />13-08-2009<br /><br />Usman Hanif<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pity-for-a-crop/
