Classic Poem

Weed grass weed root,
Spuds clinking true,
Thousands harnessed
Down dale up hill;
King and nobles,
Chiefs and barons,
Weak and strong too.

Eager for food,
Daydream for love,
They dig the earth,
They ply the spades,
Pressing southward
they scatter seeds
Deep into glades.

Quick quick their sprouts,
Comely their shoots,
Green green their seedlings,
Long last their fruits.

Reaping in hosts,
Solid the stores
Piled to great heights.
Make wine make brew,
To ancestors
Honor all rites.

Rice that tastes sweet,
The land's glory;
Wine ambrosian
Ripen old age:
Not thus awhile,
Nor thus a day,