Classic Poem

Crows on city walls,
Tails down in retreat.
Father became an officer,
Son became a conscript.
One soldier dies,
One hundred chariots.
Chariots clatter, clatter
As they enter Ho-chien.
At Ho-chien a pretty girl is skilled at counting cash,
With her cash she makes a mansion, with gold she makes a hall.
On the stone-mill, greedy, greedy, she pounds yellow millet.
Under the rafter there is a hanging drum.
I want to strike it, but the minister will be angry.