Classic Poem

The spear that belongs to the warrior from this city is not
like the spears of other men but its worth is immense.
It may rest in the eaves of a hut, its long back
gathering dust. It may travel, garlanded, in procession
around the streets and reservoirs of pure water while
the sweet voices of virtuous women mingle with the notes
of yals that had been stored in large sacks. Or it may advance
so that the entire land of the enemy reels! Should the spear do that,
then it never stops thrusting into the faces
of the massive elephants of kings with their armies like the vast ocean!