She wakes up from the bed,
Hearing her arise, a dozen eyes open,
Opens the lid to find little left,
the dried eyes, not even struggle.
The crying baby needs to be fed,
Holds him tight near her breast,
The mother cries at the baby's bite,
The baby cries for there is no milk.
Comes out of the hut to look above,
It is clear and clean as someone swept,
She hears the wind at a distance,
And the pot is kept out to collect.
It runs fast carrying all the elixir,
Over the green and blue not at brown,
No visa to enter and exit, O clouds!
Why do you haunt with your sold.
The spring from the underground in middle east,
prosper the desert countries with high rise,
Moscow can bring water from Siberia in tubes,
crying over water is a real mismanagement of fools.
veeraiyah subbulakshmi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-mismanagement-of-fools/
