Song Of The Carnahuba Palm

Brazil is my country, A palm-tree am I; Just go with me thither, Your wants I’ll supply. Should you wish for a shelter, I’ll build you a gem; The joists and the rafters Shaped out of my stem.

My leaves, broad and pliant, Will thatch you a roof, And under its cover You’ll sit weather-proof. You need not go hungry, I’ll yield milk and flour, The sweetest of sugar, And vinegar sour. Good starch I can furnish And finest of wine. Just cork up the bottles With this pith of mine!

If salt you require, Or wish to make soap, The one I can serve you, Quite fit for the Pope, And alkali furnish To make up the other; There’ll be no hard labor, No smoke and no smother. My leaves you’ll dispose of To make brooms and mats, The strongest of baskets And very best hats.

My roots distill medicine. Should you fall ill, ’Twill cure many ailments And save a long bill. And there is my fruit In which cattle delight; Its pulp is agreeable, ’Tis fair to the sight; Its rich, oily kernel A beverage makes, Delicious for breakfast With feathery cakes.

My story’s not ended; My stem, light and strong, Has uses which have not Appeared in my song. If a pump you would like, If a tube you desire, To bring in the water, Or put out a fire; If a flute you would fashion To banish dull care, There’s naught in the world With my stem can compare!