Tukaram, Poem 1777

My poor weak mind, listen to one word; why are you always dejected? Your only solicitude is about your food; better than you are the blessed birds. Lo! the jay never drinks water on earth; the summer cloud pours forth rain for its sake. Of all traders the goldsmith is most artful; yet at his home the sifter of gold dust earns his living. Tuka says, Mark certain animals in flood and field; what food do they find?