Once I was a poor man's son,
envying the gates of the rich and lordly;
one morning they filled my empty belly—
I died on the spot to requite their kindness

Once I lived in the house to the east;
I went to beg food from my western neighbor;
went, came home, and what did I see?
My old hut in the pouring rain.

Once I was the child of a peaceful age,
contented, forgetful of parting and strife;
suddenly the fires of war blazed up—
I died, and found my hunger for the first time healed.