We fell into the river,
splashing the water
on the riverweeds;
we heard the rushing of water,
smelt the offshore farmtime ashes
and heard the offshore farmtime songs.
We moved with the currents
showing kola-free teeth...
But we have poured more wine
than the gods can drink,
more than the soil can drink
and have become outcasts
dispersing the fishes
for which the baskets are laid,
and the fisherman did not like us.
We turned and left the spot;
but softly his voice rang:
The waters are yours
and the waters' yours,
we are mere beings
beggars for your kindness.
Oh! watergod,
give us, oh give us,
your products for our care.
Soon the evening will come
and we'll go home with our baskets;
let not those who sit
by the fire feel cold.
We looked at each other,
packing our things hastily
fearing more curses on our heads.