I passed by a piece of land
It was covered with weeds
Aside the trees, it has nothing else my eyes wanted to see
The same land before now saw different farm tools dress it
Season after season
Year after year
It was dressed and clothed with different crops
Crops in rows and and made of different colours
But this piece of land has lost its beauty today
The tools won't work it again
The rains may come
The sun isn't out of job
But the tools have all gone to bed
Because the farmer has gone home to rest
A rest from all this earthly stress