Poem -

PEASANTS

PEASANTS

We are peasants from the South.
We don't know how to lie.
We stand in the middle of a river.
I mean, far from lying.
Because we are peasants.
We inherited blind harm.
We are the sons of blind harm.
There is no dust on our hands.
No blood on our coats.
Only because we are loving and simple.
We are harmed.
Β 

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