1. My people, do not be far from those
Who are the poison of enemies and the plague of neighbors,

2. Who descend into every battlefield
And bind their loins with purity,

3. Who attack with drawn swords
And stab with spears of poetry,

4. Who mix their spittle into their drinks
And the rich among them with the poor,

5. If they drink they roar wildly and if they leave it
They moralize on the speech of estrangement,

6. A people when they ride you hear from them
Nonsense and shouting and scolding,

7. Without indecent speech that may be among them
In the offspring of pedigree horses and mares,

8. They met their death in the morning
As their chopped necks were led to slaughter,

9. This is my elegy for them as long as I live
And when I die my grave will lament for me.