Crops turn golden,

The farmers reap

Together, the grain

They lay in heap;

The birds twitter,

The sun shines,

After all day’s work

Each one of ’em dines

With all of the others

In the lap of bliss,

Thanking the Providence,

Divine voice ’tis

Farmers on rest

Machines now here

To do the reaping

Of grain, now sere;

The buzz of engines,

The dark of smoke

Take all away,

That idle folk

Lost by blissful vanity

Suffer in grief for eternity.

Copyright © 2001 Khan, Khalid Raza