When I see no rains smashing the grass,
And see the barren land in quest of thirst,
I wonder if things will ever be fine,
And whether this land will flourish again.
That’s when I see a peasant come up,
Getting things ready to work for the day,
In search of a tomorrow
Which may never take place.
The world may think he’s mad,
To walk miles away from home,
Set out yet another day,
To find nothing but pain.
I guess he isn’t mad,
To sweat it out each day,
It’s just plain hope which brings him here,
And I’m sure it will result someday.
