When he saw the crop grown into a sea,The donkey pricked up his ears like sorrel leaves.
He rushed right in as donkeys always do,While the moon had lit its lanterns.
The leaves beneath the stars gleamed like pearls,Stirring his soul and whetting his appetite.
He ate and ate until he was stuffed,His head spun and he stopped dead in his tracks.
This had never happened to him before,It had been a few years since he'd come to this field.
The next day, his master took one look at him:“You stayed a foal, even though you grew into a donkey.
“The field you grazed last night, you blockhead,Is no longer planted with corn, but with hashish!”
