R

Lolo stood still in the field
the sun burning his patience
Tears ain't enough to bring his rice back
His bulging red eyes kept staring the sky
Angry and hopeless
He closed his fist and curse the cloudless days
The carabao crazily seeking mud in the dry land
Raised its nose and mourns with him
And the velvet blood turns black
But the face is pale, white and cold
Three days, he stood there
Restless and foodless, he kept his hand up in the sky
Waiting for a drop of rain to touch his field.