The Plantation’s Flower


The rooster’s crow rang when the dark of the night
and the endless starry river of the sky
morphed into the dawning of the day’s first light.

Below the boundless blue in which the crows fly,
the morning dew glistened in the sea of green
and shone like tiny pearls to the watchful eye.

The fresh morning scent was pleasant and the scene
with its fertile greenery flowed like a stream
and the breeze sang melodies heard but not seen.

Planting sugarcane under the sunlight’s gleam,
the day goes by slow and with every hour
white clouds pass slowly as they do in a dream.

My life may be where tall skyscrapers tower,
but my roots make me the plantation’s flower.

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