Classic Poem

He doesn't have the wealth that every day he would lavish on others
nor the pettiness to say that he has nothing and so refuse!
Enduring the troubles that have fallen upon him as king, cured
of his suffering from those noble wounds endured when weapons
on the field of battle tasted his flesh, the handsome scars have grown
together as if he were a tree with its bark stripped for use
in curing and his body is perfect! Not a scar! In Irntai he lives
and practices generosity! He is an enemy to the hunger of bards!
If you wish to cure your poverty, come along with me, bard whose lips
are so skilled! If we make our request of him, showing our ribs
thin with hunger, he will go to the blacksmith of his city
and will say to that man of powerful hands,
“Shape me a long spear for war, one that has a straight blade!”