A Southern Farmer
I am a farmer from the south bring nothing in my pocket but oranges. Look at my face, it is brown and look at my hands, they are white. I am from here, from the south; an Eastern man with a dreamy soul. Yes, I am a dreamer from the south; my heart bears nothing but simple love and my mouth smiles without cause.


An Old Farmer
I'm an old farmer, know the amazing colors of the flowers’ hearts where the blue dreams wear their shiny dresses and the whispers make a sunny cake for the morning’s birds. When the squirrel travels through the green songs, all the flavors take their pink veils and when the rivers chant their daring stories, every girl immerse in her blue dreams. They fill the times with a stormy passion and plant smiles in our dry deserts. In their sleepy eyes, you can see the river’s secrets and from their loud whispers, you may know the silent wishes.

A Mute Farmer
When that southern bird has seen our dreams, he opened his book. He knows our farmery hearts and his hand, which had come from the remote valley, colors the moon face with a laugh. O dreamy bird, this is my farmery love sits behind my eyes. Can you see it? Can you hear its muteness? Here is my pretend; a colored veil covers my fire and a shy smile bears my coldness over warm wings.It is me; the mute farmer.