Volcano

Where is the poor man's wealth? I shouted in a dream. Where is the poor man's dignity? I cried in a dream. I saw the black smoke blowing from the mountain's peak. Lava, the earth's blood river flowed everywhere. A clergyman's hermitage miser's money, beggar's till and prostitutes beauty all converted to stone. Farmers, fields, priceless graveyards Kings, Queens, Horses, Elephants and the forest too All had been covered with Lava. Only the God has escaped and remained in the sky because he is not a human being.