Farmer

I am an old farmer; my skin has been made from this earth’s perfume. I grew between its legumes as a butterfly. Look at Euphrates; he doesn't know any spite. With his brown garment, he has descended as a desert cavalier so you see all these sands cover his face. Now, I will tell you about Uruk; the sleepy city which the seven wise men had built its foundations. Come here, look at my palms and see how they are coarse as Uruk’s trees. Because of this, you find the darkness sits in that corner with its icy dress and kills our children.