Smelt a field grass-
Pale brown in the windless sun;
there lie a thirsty river in the far end.
No channel of rats acquainted; -
Men abroad the forest with lost regard;
hanging tears of women and children-
no voices but a trace of pity on the surfaces.
And - i was seven...
Melikhaya Zagagana
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-i-was-seven/
