The sun now is downward moving
behind the long and deep mountains,
the age-old trees are now casting
their long shadows over the plains.
My eyes survey the fields around
to reckon things that I have done,
with joy, so much I there have found,
less work now waits ere light is gone.
My sons, good yield they have at hand
to fill them long, sustain them best,
may they, too, learn to farm the land
while I bide by taking my rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem