Purananuru - Part 155

To your side withering away with hunger you, a bard, press
your small curving yal and briefly, with a few choice words, you ask
where are those caring people, alert to relieve your suffering?
Listen to me now! As in an abandoned city, cow's-thorn flowers
swing their pure golden blossoms toward the sun as it is rising, so
the dining dishes of poor poets turn toward the chest crossed
with a cool garland of the master of great
Konkanam Mountain, he whose fame glows, and then the dishes blossom with food!
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Pulavans
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