Let the sower sow bountifully
Let the gatherer gather much to store
Rejoice you drinkers and fill your cups
Feast with your families and fill your tables
For the time is coming, surely is near
That the sower shall sow but the clouds will fail
The brewer will cease to brew for the vines will die
Winds will blow, but dry and empty
The morning shall be but without dew
Lands will shut their wombs and birds will cease to sing
Rivers will cease to flow and years of plenty shall be forgotten
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem