Classic Poem

In the courtyard of Afzal Khan the little tree parrots
Gaily flutter about.
Hear how the silly little parrots twitter and chirp!
See how they preen their gaudy Indian feathers!

They fly from tree to tree.
Wherever they fly, they drop their dung.
Dirty, garish little Indian parrots!

In the very courtyard of Hydar Khan's grandson
The little tree parrots flutter and flutter.
Yet should I, the tough old Afghan hawk, fear them?

Tomorrow Afzal Khan will have grown tired of them.
Tomorrow he will wring their silly little necks.
But I am Turkan Khatoom.
Seven sons have I borne my lord!