Classic Poem

On Poti Mountain, the realm of Ay who wears sliding bracelets,
in the giant branches of the jack tree growing in his courtyard,
a monkey, thinking it a fruit, beats on the clear, sweet-singing
eye of a drum left hanging there by some who traveled to him
in their need and a wild goose calls out as if keeping time!
Unless a woman will approach it dancing,
mighty kings have no hope of ever coming near that hill!