English
On the Truth of My Own Condition
In years gone by, from the land around me,
a little something would come from every side.
In my room there was dry bread and greens,
and they'd be there when a friend dropped by.
Now and then even wine was on hand,
if a companion or a lovely guest arrived.
Now I have nothing left, neither dry nor fresh,
of all that once used to come my way.
Nothing is left in my house but me,
and even I wouldn't stay, if some errand called.