I've talked a little of the summer,
Autumn, winter - that's my style.
What of girls red-cheeked and black-eyed?
Dusky brows can wait a while!
I'll forgot my recollections
Of the Plough-Day, Harvest-Day.
If I mused too long on those things,
I should surely lose my way.
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But wait! I dwell on pleasant things
And I may easily go astray.
How could I forget the title
Of this poem is Shuraleh?
You will have the tale, my reader.
Have some patience. Be so kind.
When I think about my village,
I quite often lose my mind.
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