Classic Poem

At a time when the Silver Planet was seen in the south and the fields
where things grow yielded nothing and the irrigation canals were dry,
a drummer with a big parai drum went traveling to seek out the presence
of his Crukutikilan Pannan and to let him know how poorly
he stood. My lord then gave whatever he had so as to make
that suffering vanish away. Our chieftain, our overlord,
he who is supreme in generosity! Hear me then sing of Pannan
who gives away fields where the rice grows to poets who own
the elephant of true victorious speech, whose mighty trunk is compositions
of penetrating art, whose tusks are their tongues. . . . .
If I do not exalt the high quality of his plowing oxen
as I beat my kinai drum, if I don't sing each and every day,
may he who is descended from Tennavan, he in whose courtyard
a bell is always hung to be rung by those in need, may Valuti
of the vast army with a resounding, well-strapped
royal drum and massive elephants protect my large family no longer!