Is intimidated
By the acrimony
Of the detractor
The Negro soil produces green
The burglar hinders good harvest
The thorns are relentless
The labourer's body is fatigued
Vain labour kills his hope
Ineffable agony lays in his heart
Merchants with frisky offsprings
Rip without sowing
The labourer's offspring are put into peril
With harvest locked away
The feisty lives in solitary
He scorns the merchant and his henchmen
He loves the Negro soil
He consoles the labourer
He gets the pesticides to work
The herbicide isn't left out
A doubtful assured future
Awaits the labourer's offspring
The Negro soil
Is never void