Classic Poem

The singing woman is wearing a garland that will not fade
and on the head of the bard a large lotus flower that never
blossomed in a lake shines like a flame. We'll throw
a big black male goat upon the red fire and we'll have a feast, eating
solid chunks of succulent meat rendered even richer
by the spices and as our tongues reddened from drinking liquor
move the meat around in our mouths we'll give away gifts
to those in need who approach us. Come you are fierce
in war, let us be happy! Such things will be hard to have,
O greatness! on the day we go to the broad burial ground
with its urns, where a male owl never stops shrieking
perched in the hollow of an ancient tree
whose many fallen roots have split the earth and sway in the wind!