Classic Poem

You at whose gateway those coming in need were halted
by the rice and the best of meat crackling with the sound
of frying spices, you whose cool and fragrant pavilion
halted the weeping of bards, O wealthy, mighty palace!
You have lost everything, you and the wife who has cut off
her hair and shed her small bangles and eats nothing
but waterlily seeds, now that the father of sons who would
refuse white rice because they wanted it only
mixed with sweet milk has gone to the lonely burning ground!