I wish for nothing but a palace, but I can’t control it;
I dream about growing crops in the fields, but I can’t control it either.
The freshly unearthed tender grass pokes its head among the crops,
The passionate rain comes to the world and gives charity everywhere.
Farmers planning a bumper harvest enthusiastically dream of a happy paradise.
Weeds compete with crops for fertilizer, attracting farmers to hoe ruthlessly.
The weeds that have no one to sympathize with are everywhere.
Weeds are a problem for farmers, and farmers are also a problem for weeds.
Crops are vampires, but harvests are expected every year.
Farmers squander their youth and live in their prime, and then their essence is diminished day by day.
Weeds grow with the wind, fleeing in the crop fields but never dying.
When farmers are tired, weeds take the opportunity to grow and crops retreat.
The crops are barren, weeds have taken over the fields, and farmers’ tools are rusty.
The fields are replaced by weeds.
Farmers have begun to plan to turn their fields into pastures.
The weeds are growing at the right time and are spreading freely.
City builders are interested in them. After acquiring this field,
the farmers made a large fortune.
The weeds lined up to welcome the arrival of the excavator.
Soon, the turned soil buried them all alive!
Nowadays, groups of buildings have been erected as monuments to the weeds.
Under the iron concrete floor, the weeds have rotted into soil.
The children and grandchildren of weeds dare not step too far into the urban green spaces.
Beside the lawn, the farmers in the past always had to think for a long time------