The cloth-vine spreads – across the middle of the valley.
So prosperous; the leaves, luxuriant.
A gold finch alights on a bushy perch
To warble a poignant air.
The cloth-vine spreads – across the middle of the valley.
So prosperous; the leaves, luxuriant.
Boil them for fibers fine, fibers coarse.
Weave them into garment cloth.
I ask my master for leave
To go home.
"I want to wash my skirt and underwear."
In truth, I want to see my parents.