No sign
Imprints the feet
On concrete walk
Down the road, with
Polished shoes
and slipper wear
Skin-cracked foot
Press my warmth
To marks my toil
Beneath the soil
Sprouting many fields
With paddy and price
Now, warm pressed to Earth
I give my spade
A look for joy
My toil, my field
My soil pulls me
In its earthy fragrance
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