Question

its wave breaks before the tractor blade.
Over the hedge our neighbour travels his field
in a cloud of lime, drifting our land
with a chance gift of sweetness.
The child comes running through the killed flowers,
his hands a nest of quivering mouse,
its black eyes two sparks burning,
We know it will die and ought to finish it off.
It curls in agony big as itself
and the star goes out in its eye.
Summer in Europe, the field's hurt,
and the children kneel in the long grass,​

Answer 1

Answer:

jhg

Explanation:

reuhijgtriuopuyiorehorkejy;i'ujqhihyoujigo;ih.lyq'pkh