Like the farmer, we all desire no badlands
To watch our crops grow stunted
Is something we cannot withstand
Yet the unknown, the season’s change cannot be fronted

Nobody wants a badland
Nobody wants to grow crops
On sandy or stony lands
Everyone wishes for a loamy land

Sometimes we examine the lands
Sometimes we plan the land
Sometimes we plough the land with manure
Sometimes we put so much in it, massive efforts

But like the seasons are unknown
There might be too much downpour
To sweep away our nurturing crops
Or too hot and dry season
To dry our fresh growing buds
Even if the land were fertile

No one desires badlands
But the seasons we can’t predict
Hence on hope and faith we leave our views
Our desires for good lands
Out of certainty, the crops shall yield from a fertile land