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June 13, 2002
The Iranian

I will always remember dear Namaki,

I think he was treated like a lackey,

He had a nice and quiet donkey,

Though he himself looked like a monkey.

Oh yes, I remember when we were very young,

All those grassy fields, flowers and dung,

Everyday Namaki galloped through our street,

He beat his donkey with his feet,

He put on his saddle and rode slow,

and jolly well did he do so.

I remember Namaki was such a nice man,

He delivered salt by donkey, not van,

He rode his animal so fast and fast

I feared the poor donkey would not last.

But he had to deliver his goods on time,

He did this so people could dine,

If only they had "order in advance"

He would not lead this stupid dance.

One day I saw Namaki in a state,

I thought I'd better stay and wait,

It turned out to be something terrible, my friend,

Alas, his job was coming to an end.

He threw his arms around me and cried,

And wished that he had earlier died.

Poor Namaki,

What an unlucky man he was,

He was also infected with head louse.

How long he could carry on, I do not know,

At any minute, he had to go.

Now Namaki had to work for a new master,

To him, this was a real disaster,

In new streets he had to pass,

Namaki with that fat ass.

They finally brought in the van,And he decided to work as the dust man.

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By Sami Gorgan Roodi



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