Oh, my proud and arrogant patron, Listen to me, you rich man of Ngan Tson. In this month of spring the peasants Of Tibet are busy on their farms. I, the Yogi, also farm. Upon the bad field of desires, I spread the fertilizer of the Preparatory Practice; I wet the field with manure of the Five Nectars; I plant the seeds of the Non-confusing Mind, Farming with discriminative thought. I plow with Non-dualistic oxen Harnessed to the Wisdom-Plow, With Observation of Precepts as the rope, And Non-distraction Effort as the girth. Diligence is my cord, and skill my bridle. With these tools and efforts, the bud of Bodhi sprouts; In due season ripe will be my fruit. You are a farmer who grows annual crops; For eternity I cultivate.