African child

In this beautiful land, We are the seeds planted To feed the hopeless. Heavy rain falls from above Yet only drops we receive. Farmers plant more of us That they can't weed. Taller trees makes the rain, Farmers hope for it But we dont receive a bit. No rain, no weeding Just the planting. And now our lives get shorter Everyday that we struggle To survive among the weeds Till we are down to the tired soil. © Oulawilly