For all my entreaties you keep putting me
off; of my honest designs I see neither fruit
nor power to produce fruits; my poems are like
mere grinding songs; they are empty and I treat
them as though they were full measure. If we
have wooden ladles and bowls at home, will they
serve us, says Tuka, to administer a kingdom?
off; of my honest designs I see neither fruit
nor power to produce fruits; my poems are like
mere grinding songs; they are empty and I treat
them as though they were full measure. If we
have wooden ladles and bowls at home, will they
serve us, says Tuka, to administer a kingdom?