Here, in the fields,
 I try to smell the lilies,
 it's so many,
 And until I'm done with it,
 The freshest ones wither.

 I am trying to classify the spikes:
 graceful with long, fierce bristles,
 dark green chunky wheat
 dark-grained black oats,
 Pregnant pods are regular rollers
 Like prayer beads, peas,
 And those neglected on the sidelines,
 With golden crowns, corn.

 I'm here because I like to be here,
 There is no place where I hide smaller than this,
 Where I witness the hardness of the rocks
 It tears the water and I hear its howling
 in the valleys.

 I'm trying to borrow some time here,
 I swear I will return it to its owner with interest.
 I multiply in it the twenty-four hours of my day,
 To hear and understand the song of the birds,
 Otherwise, how do I sleep tonight?

 Here I learned a hard profession: life,
 It is more difficult than being alive.

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The painting is Amir Khatib's creation.