I am like the sower,
Who is tired of his lands,
Or like the winnower,
Who is chained on his hands!
The best of my seeds I sow,
On lands that seem to be fertile,
And wait for their fruits to grow,
To taste the feat, but in futile!
Gods are jealous of my seeds,
Will they ever give me lands,
Where I will never find weeds,
That slay the deeds of my hands!
Will my seeds bear their fruits?
Will the Gods give me some rest?
Will my plants grow from their roots?
Kinship is the fruit I love the best!
