I guess it’s too late to live on a farm.
The city holds me tight with all its charm.
I don’t know how to till the land,
Which crop goes with which sand.
Neither can I milk a cow,
Nor can I work a plough.
Pigs will stare at me in alarm,
As I stand helpless with my writing arm.
I’ve never learnt farming.
All I can do is some feeble writing.
So, I guess it’s too late to live on a farm.
I have to make do with the city’s charm.