Classic Poem

Bard with your clothes torn to rags, old man
carrying your small yal with its resounding voice
who were so intent on coming here, who moved across
many paths dense with cattle, passed over so many
mountains dense with deer and waded through many fords
filled with their fish, you have the fine idea of leaving
to seek out the king! But your lord won't just say “Come again.”
Like tall ears of millet in a broad field where on trees
the parrots sit and wait is that husband of women
with lush dark hair and adorned with costly ornaments!
Who will even know you when you return?