أَخا الوِدادِ أَعنى في مُكابَدَتي

أَمرُ الفَلاحَةِ ما أَشقى وَأَوحَلَهُ

O brotherly affection, help me endure

The toil of farming, how miserable and muddy it is

قَد جاءَني الكَشفُ هَذا العامُ مُحتَوِياً

سَبعينَ أَلفاً أَرى في الرَقَمِ جَملَهُ

The harvest report has come this year

Showing seventy thousand, a number that astounds

وَكَم فَرِحتُ وَقُلتُ القُطنَ مِنهُ وَفا

إِذا بِالغَوا فيهِ وَاِستَعلوا مَحصَلَهُ

How glad I was, thinking the cotton would suffice

But they exaggerated it and inflated its yield

فَراحَ نَقبي عَلى شَونٍ وَيا أَسَفي

لا القَطنُ وَفى وَلا الفَلّاحُ كَملَهُ

So my anxiety grew in vain, oh what a pity

Neither did the cotton suffice, nor did the farmer fulfill it

حَتّى أَراني كَصَرّافِ البِلادِ فَكَم

يَعُدَّ بِالأَلفِ وَالحَصرِ المَهادِ لَهُ

Until I saw myself like the town’s money changer, so much

Does he count with thousands and the pillow as his bed