Classic Poem

Though I have to make a living for the many
young girls who wear their double braids,
whose shoulders are scored from all their carrying,
and for my dancing women too, waists as thin
as vines and their feet aching from the long climb,
I will tell you the truth and not lie to you!
You, lord of Nancil mountain with its towering summit, whose lineage
counts men of power who were never false to their commitments!
Conscious of the need to grant me a gift, your heart maintaining
that will, there is no time for you to wait for just
the right moment! Because you have no fear at all of dying
for the good of your king, he who is always generous!
And since that is so, suppose a time of terrible battle
comes one day like the world
torn out of place? My family as it suffers with hunger would mourn!