This poem is not about farming.
Day in and day out he works this land, digging and planting in the field
Another lost cause/ old dirt they say will never yield
But he keeps on working/ digging, planting and uprooting with calloused, tired hands
They don’t understand, just why he keeps on trying/on what they call barren land
He says he knows what they don’t, it’s HIS dirt/ it’s this dirt that made him a man
Ibrahim Ibn Danyal (self)