The farmer's plight

Now it's almost,

Mid of April,

Wheat is ready,

To be harvested,

Then send to mandis,

From their,

To be bought,

By general masses,

And consumed.

But almighty has,

It's own ways,

Already clouds are seen,

In the sky,

Winds are blowing,

With rapid speed,

Indicating some misfortune is,

To fall,

And the farmers will be,

Deprived of their,

Excitement and smile.

If almighty would have been,

Kind enough,

This unpredictable weather would have been,

In the control of the farmers,

The humanity would have,

Served better.