The glowing sun peeks over the edge,
The clouds sparse, yet still present,
Collecting and growing in size…
The gentle breeze sways the leaves on the field,
The tired cattle rest after a hard day of toil.
And the man looks with pride
Upon his first harvest of the season.
At dawn break, the entire community will toil instead
To make the harvest into a grand feast
A feast to express their gratitude
A feast to honor the nature
For without the will of the Mother
The tables shall remain bare
And the stomachs all empty
So let the boiling milk tip over the edge
And let the feast be spread
For this is the way of our ancestors
To finally show our gratitude
To the Mother who kept us all fed!
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