A poor young child owns but a grain of rice,

A grain the size of a kernel of corn.

Of what are clutches silver, gold, and nice?

Not a jewel has he seen or pearl he's worn.

One cloth to wear but he does not complain.

Never even dreamed of a life like ours.

But he so cherishes that single grain

that teaches his respect to the sky's czars.

He praises God until he falls asleep,

Commending Satan to vamoose to hell.

Not a tear does he shed or cry he weep.

Between his cheeks, a grand smile there does dwell.

The poor young child loves his dear grain of rice.

He shan't desire riches of bigger size.