I planted beans at the foot of Mt. Namsan, but only grass grows and there are only a few bean seedlings.They go out early in the morning, pick up the weeds, and come back with their plows on their backs in the moonlight.The road is narrow, and the grass and trees grow as long as they want.Evening dew wets my clothes.I don't regret getting my kimono wet, but I just want to make sure that I don't make a mistake.This is the gist of this poem.I was born on a farm, so my mother's figure overlaps with me, and I express it so that I can feel that scene from this work.
