The old are the waste cotton
As cotton, I was dear to the farmer,
And then to the spinner. Becoming yarn,
To the weaver and as cloth to the wuser
I was dear in care for the rest of time.
Worn out, I was sent to be as waste cotton.
Torn out, I was thrown to disintegrate.
As old, everyone would be thrown out..
13.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
