Classic Poem

There in the watery fields where the eels go flashing and the women
weed out the small and lovely patches of blue and white waterlilies
where the harrow has passed and has killed and cut up scabbard fish
so that the fat pieces can be taken and eaten right from the pools
by the laborers with strong arms, fathers of children too young
to dress their hair who after growing tired of the taste of great coconuts
climb up on the growing stacks of grain their fathers are raising and
leap up into the air trying to bring down fruit from the palmyra palms—
in that good land prosperity is born again every day, where with his spear
gleaming, with his elegant chariot and his powerful hands, the lord
Cenni rules! And when the laborers have finished their fish, they take
glowing white rice from the freshly cut paddy and eat until their ribs
bulge out and then they walk heavily back to the fields and the sheaves
near the high-piled grain! If any men exist who believe they can oppose
his chest crossed by its garland like a rainbow, they should know what
will happen to them! We have never seen any living being succeed against
his arms like iron gate bolts! Even less do we see
sorrow in those who could instantly take refuge at his handsome feet!