Rice Farmers Decide To Be Rude

A knee-Imprisoning Marsh And Labor-Demanding Field; Not agriculturally harsh But planters forcing to fitness wield … Rice farmers decide to be rude, A hundred in an ugly mood. “Blast Mr. President for lowering prices! He shall helpless watch be as protest rises”. On trust, if the Enraged Tongue is ready, Bloody Fool! Will be surely steady … But are all these measurement of The Staple Or hints at its being A Pearl to The Apple? Perhaps, Rice Men’s Sharp anger in a swamp, Mr. President spares not his longer jump. Planters even on one another pick For the Roughest Unendurable Kick That yield wounds we lingeringly lick And Rapport-Ending Keys noisily click … God! Let this time bomb not intently tick Nor in their minds The Persecution Thing stick. An identified cousin of Mr. President Starts answering to a not-funny “Dissident”, With a promised repeat of the dent And wider broadcast of the incident … Rice farmer are by Eighty Percent rude And I’m visibly there, no hood.