Trucks' hoots don't swallow tranquility here
And there are no assembly of bus- conductor's hoots
Only the cock's shrill voice picks up sleep from our body
We just know it's time to exchange hardwork for money.
The cowboy comes with a holdall of mischiefs
He's dragged into the belly of a farmer's curses—
The farmer calls him a conflagration in his pocket.
Men sprawl over green leaves
Making their apparition greeny.
Unadulterated breeze
Stretching men's age.
Still, we'll ply the oesophagus of this community
into a city—
we'll say this sanctuary doesn't deserve us.