Sun, round and red
like a wheel of copper,
you look down on me every day—
every day you see my poverty.
Sun that you
so evenly
distribute your light,
you should teach my master
to do the same as you.
You see me with the plow,
sometimes with the scythe—
one time out on the plain
and another on the hillside.
Sun that you
so evenly
distribute your light,
you should teach my master
to do the same as you.