Ignorance
Ignorance
The joys of the farmer know no bounds
The fields are full of golden harvest.
A sudden hailstorm!
The crops are destroyed.
The Labours of the farmer
Have been defeated
In the face of a hailstorm,
The farmer complains
Against the storm
And weeps voluptuously,
Since death is inevitable
Why does not he weep everyday
If this weep is genuine?
