Two poems about farmers
one
In spring, as long as you sow a seed, you can harvest a lot of food in autumn.
There is no waste of heaven and earth, and the toiling peasants are still starving to death.
Secondly,
At noon in summer, the sun is very hot, farmers are still working, and beads are dripping into the soil.
Who would have thought that our bowl of rice and grain are full of the blood and sweat of farmers?
The second song is a little more peaceful.