Flame of a flat clay lamp does not dispel
The night, through which outside some divine
Planet goes. Bleats and moans from the pen
Of to be murdered beasts. Tomorrow,
Garlanded, their white throats stretched
Upward to the gods’ sky, before
Mid-morning heat,
These die. Smoke for the goddess, profit
For priests, meat for mine and me.
Upon the smoking burning stinking portion for
My goddess of fat and flesh cut from the bone
A handful of Sabaean incense will be thrown.
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