Classic Poem

I know that down at the bottom of a pot with a flaking mouth
in front of our small house, there is a little bit of water
from a red place, from a well dug into red-soiled ground
in a ravine, and the water is fit to drink. Since the day
is too far gone for us to set a handful of dried millet out
in the front yard full of thatch-leaved pens so that the doves
and the partridges may take it as bait, all we have now is some
cooked rabbit, but we will give it away! Bard with your
well-trained mouth, come in and stay with us! From this village
where children whose heads are easily hurt hitch up a calf
to a toy chariot as if it were an ordinary calf—though
it tosses its head because its mother is a cow of the forest
with curving horns—the lord went off to do work for his king. When
he returns he'll garland the dancing woman
who is your wife and give you a garland of gold, forever unfading.