'It would be said so
For hundred days the land was not mowed'
Said the panch to the gathering
Who asked what could be done
To find grains in grains again,
'It would be a tough ask'
The panch replied,
'For it would be said so
For hundred days
The land was not mowed,'
'Call the farmer to the ground
He must be held and bound
For hundred days he did nothing
Only slept and did not till,'
What a waste, what a waste
Would be the cry from east to west,
He had left it high and dry
He had failed to properly comply
With the dictats that would've required
Courage more and something sagacious
And theories of everything rightly fitting there,
The farmer wished he could answer them all
With answers really long and really tall,
But how could he really tell
How hundred days he felt like being chopped and felled,
And it would be said so
For years to come and years to go,
For hundred days the land was not mowed.